


Irremission

by dalaire



Series: Irremission-Avalar [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Epic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-08-24
Updated: 1998-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 09:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 33,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalaire/pseuds/dalaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in an alternate universe, this story studies Paris and the people in his life, altered here by the chance meeting of a lady who would be an unexpected mentor to him.  The result of that is told in descending time in the first chapter, from just before the equivalent of "Hunters" to events six years before "Caretaker," the beginning of this AU. The second chapter moves forward in time to the end of the 4th season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Remembrance

**Stardate 51499**

Even the misty sunset could not brighten his features.  He knew of a time when it could, when he walked beside that beautiful, loving creature.  She would skip about the skirt of a wave, laughing, hair blowing in the breeze, begging him to run with her.  He never did, said he'd watch from there.  He wondered why he couldn't bring himself to.  But he did covet her fancy, appreciate how the setting sun lit her features in such a way, even restrained himself from telling her her dress was getting ruined from the water and sand.  She darted about in such a way that reminded him why he fell in love with her, why he married her. 

But she was gone, much too soon.  In the home he'd made for her, she managed to find a way to leave him behind, to leave him to grow old without her; to always wonder what might have been, to regret never having followed her into the water.  He hated her freedom.  He hated that he could never have been more like her.  Her liberty had been her gift--and his curse.  It was always her way to be running ahead, leaving him to watch and to wait...powerless.  Old.  Alone. 

As the sun nestled itself into the sea, as its colors flowed in behind it, he watched, very still.  His eyes showed no emotion, his thin mouth was straight.  He took an even breath, slowly filling his lungs with the moist air, then let it out with no greater effort. 

_What should I say?_

The tide was coming in, and he remembered watching them run along the shore together, dancing without pattern or purpose.  Why that had so disturbed him was still a mystery, though he could recall some of the words, something about discipline and society and future purposefulness.  It was for love, for the future, for their son.  He'd truly thought his actions would reflect his intentions. 

So he stated his position, made his suggestions and watched her pretty features pale.  Her arguments were valid, her anger and tears real, but he was persuasive, knew what he was doing would be good for their boy in the long run.  In the end, she relented.  He regretted that too.  Too much. 

But revenge was gotten on her side, for the child he had molded broke free despite all his best intentions.  He never saw, or wanted to see, how much their son belonged to his mother.  He was ignorant of her deeper influence.  As though her soul had broken free of death, Alaine Paris reclaimed what was hers all along, restoring her broken child's spirit.  It would not be restrained again. 

And just like his mother, the son had gotten the last word--now twice.   


**51474:  Nine days ago**

"Thank you Alaine." 

Alaine watched, her wide blue eyes full of pride.  Her mother had accepted the blanket she'd brought with warm thanks and a kiss on the cheek.  Alaine liked to help her parents with the baby whenever she thought they needed it. 

"Mommy, Kin goin' bed soon?" 

"Soon, sweetheart," she confirmed, draping the blanket over the infant and her arm as she guided the newborn to her breast. 

"And so will you," Tom said quietly as he came into the living room with a book in hand.  He grinned and motioned to the couch, to which Alaine hurried, anxious for her story.  After helping B'Elanna sit beside their daughter, Tom seated himself on her other side and opened the first page. 

"Once upon a time," he read, and Alaine snuggled up beside him, "there was a prince who was not happy, and so he sought the advice of a sage.  The wise old man answered that happiness was a difficult thing to find in the world...." 

B'Elanna watched her husband read the ancient tale.  Though she had heard it many times by then, it had come to be one of her favorites, too--perhaps sometimes because she knew it was short.  She liked it even more when she got him to break down and read it in the original.  He had such an expressive voice and in French even more so, at least to her ear.  But it was as easy to get Tom to speak French as it was to get her to speak Klingon, so B'Elanna knew to appreciate the rare times he did fall out of his native tongue. 

Still, she liked the story in any fashion, liked how Alaine's eyes followed the pictures so intently as he elaborated on the tale, turned the page slowly as Alaine's face lit with expectation, how she asked questions and how Tom answered with heartfelt animation.  She could see him reading the story to Kiarn someday.  _By then, Tom will probably have perfected it,_ she smiled to herself, nestling herself close to Alaine while caressing her nursing son. 

It was not too late when they finally got their children to their respective beds, so the parents returned to the couch to relax together.  Still mindful of the routine, they were well aware that they would have only a few hours to rest before Kiarn awoke.  Making the most of their time, Tom pulled B'Elanna into his arms, reclining into the pillows.  She put her head on his chest and closed her eyes and smiled when he tenderly kissed her forehead.  She leaned up to have another, sighing contentedly as he pressed his lips to hers, then again as both drew deep breaths. 

He grinned and caressed her cheek with a finger.  "If we weren't ready to collapse, I'd ravish you, Miss Torres." 

"I dare you to beat me to it," she returned, sharing his tired laugh.  It had been nearly a month since they had made love, and as it had been around the time of Alaine's birth, they had begun to count the hours until they could be rested and unoccupied enough to resume their usual activities.  That would happen soon enough, but both knew it wasn't going to happen on that night.  So, B'Elanna languidly finished his third kiss and resumed her former position, snuggling her cheek in the nook of his shoulder.  Her eyes closed again.  "Do you think we'll be able to make it for breakfast tomorrow?"  she whispered. 

"If you're up to it," Tom replied.  "Kiarn should be all right.  I don't think breakfast would be too tiring for any of us.  Was Alaine asking?" 

"Actually, it was Neelix's idea," B'Elanna said.  "He says everyone's anxious to see Kiarn, but they won't dare visit."  Nuzzling herself further into his embrace, sleep was coming very close.  She took a deep breath and let it go.  "If we get some sleep, we'll go, then." 

"Okay."  Tom continued to hold her, feeling one muscle after another slacken beneath his arms, her slight weight become heavier.  He, too, began to relax against the soft pillows, felt his eyes get heavy.  Certainly, he had not been the one to give birth, but being a light sleeper, he had been up as often as B'Elanna had, helping her with what he could and doing his best to give Alaine attention when B'Elanna couldn't.  Thankfully, he was a little more used to being up at night, so his mood hadn't suffered for it yet.  In truth, the activity helped him settle back down. 

"Tom?"  she whispered, barely awake. 

"Yes, B'Elanna?" 

A pause, then.  Her fingers traced little circles on his shirt.  "Do you think they were happy to get our letters--that hearing we're alive is a good thing?" 

Tom nestled his cheek against her hair.  "I don't know.  I hope so." 

She paused, feeling her husband's stillness despite his slightly increased heartbeat.  "Do you think we...Do you think they've forgiven us?" 

"It's been a long time.  I want to believe they have." 

"Me too," B'Elanna sighed. 

"It's not knowing that makes it as hard as it is." 

She nodded with her eyes alone.  "I think so, too." 

The thought was disturbing her, he knew.  It disturbed him too.  He could feel her shoulders tense slightly, feel her unconsciously clasp his shirt.  Tom's mouth curled into a little grin as he peeked down at her.  Then, he whispered, "Il y avait une fois un prince qui n'était pas heureux." 

On his chest, he felt her smile.  He took a silent breath, closed his eyes.  "Il alla consulter un vieux derviche.  Le sage vieillard lui répondit que le bonheur était chose difficile trouver en ce monde..." 

He stroked her dark hair, tracing the curls over her shoulder.  The words came easily to his unpracticed tongue, the story flowing out from one line to the next as if by nature.  "...Peine inutile.  Il n'en est pas plus heureux..." 

He glanced down to her as he continued.  B'Elanna's eyes were almost closed; her smile was relaxed.  Tom leaned his head against hers.  "'Voilá pourtant un homme qui possede le bonheur,' se dit-il.  '-Es-tu heureux?' -- 'Oui,' a dit l'autre.  -- 'Tu ne désirez rien?' -- 'Non.'"

Tom smiled to himself, gazing down to their entwined arMs. "'Tu ne changerais pas ton sort pour celui d'un roi?'" he breathed, watching her small fingers clutch slightly at his sleeve.  "'Jamais de la vie...'"

She had stilled completely then; her small breaths warmed his collar.  Grinning to himself, he pulled his head up slightly to look at her face.  Softly, he kissed her forehead. 

She was asleep.  Soon after, he was too.   


**49134:  2.4 years ago**

"Sorry to disturb you, Admiral." 

"Yes, Lieutenant, what is it?"  Willing down the corners of his mouth, he was amused to know that even after so many years, he could make them shake a little.  It was but an odd little pleasure he never took too seriously. 

The young lieutenant--_How was this child promoted so quickly?_\--stepped fully into the office, a PADD in his hand.  "This came in for you an hour ago, Admiral.  It was hand delivered from a Bajoran trade ship and inspected.  Admiral Nechayev cleared it and asked me to bring it to you, sir." 

"Admiral Nechayev did, did she?"  Admiral Paris gestured to an empty space on his desk and gave the young man a nod.  "Very well, you may leave it here." 

Once the lieutenant completed his duty, the older man dismissed him.  With but a glance at the typically Bajoran datapad, he continued his work, wanting to finish his report before distracting himself with what was probably another request for a visit from the Bajoran Government.  His dealings with the Cardassians made him a desirable guest.  But Owen Paris did not much care for ruminating.  He had enough work to do.  He had enough to think about. 

"Nechayev to Paris," came a woman's voice over the comm. 

He did not look up.  "Yes, Alynna, I received the PADD." 

"You're busy, I suppose."  Her tone was flat. 

"Yes." 

"Owen, you're not too busy to look at this one.  I think you need to read it." 

"Were it a priority, you would have called me before."  A pause.  The admiral grinned.  "I'm not going, if that's what you're asking." 

"Going?  You haven't even looked at it, have you?  No, it's not a priority, not officially.  It's of a personal nature....If you need to talk later, I'm willing.  Nechayev out." 

_She couldn't talk, wherever she was_, he correctly guessed.  Nechayev had a plainness about her manner that he both recognized and appreciated.  She was never cryptic unless she needed to be.  But something had bothered her enough to check in on him. 

Admiral Paris shook his head and put a pause on his report.  He then reached across the desk for the PADD, accessing its data with a thump of his thumb as he brought it closer.  Then he saw the portrait; at first he almost didn't recognize...  Without thinking, he glanced through the hand-written words just below it--

> Stardate 48286
> 
> Dear Dad,
> 
> How do I begin?  I've been sitting here for twenty minutes, trying to find the right words.  But I've learned that sometimes you just have to start without thinking too much about how it'll be taken.  So I'll start with what I'm thinking and take it from there. 
> 
> I've learned a lot of things, Dad, since the last time we met.  But considering where I am now and what I'm doing, I think it's right to let you know what's happened to me.  You deserve the chance to understand. 
> 
> I want you to know that I'm not the same scared, angry and--yes--drunk kid that left Earth two years ago.  A lot of things have changed. 

The admiral froze.  His eyes found the portrait again. 

He remembered Alaine...her smile, her eyes, staring up to him... 

The hand that held the PADD began to tremble.  Slowly, deliberately, he put the PADD aside, picked up the status report.  But the words he'd read already echoed in his mind, in his son's voice; the portrait had already burnt itself into his memory.  The report in his hand slowly found his desk again. 

Unwillingly, he remembered it all. 

Now there was more. 

He stood from his desk and moved to the window.  Peering down at the people walking on their way, he fought to control his shaking hands, clasping them tightly behind his back, fighting to push those words, that image, away.  His efforts were futile. 

"Damnit, Tom," he whispered, his eyes unconsciously drifting upwards, "why?"   


* * *

  
**   
_  
Remembrance_   
**   
  


**48491:  7.4 months ago**

"You didn't see him at Avalar," he said softly, running his thick, worn fingers around the middle of the nearly drained coffee cup.  He was hunched over, just a little, as if a bit too much weight had been resting on him for a little too long.  He was tired--as were they all--and the personal responsibility he felt to settle his comrades in their new home remained one person away from being over. 

Again, "You didn't see him at Avalar." 

Despite the quiet assuredness in his voice, the varied memories inspired by that place cast an ironic grin upon his lips.  "I admit when I met him, I didn't think much of him; he didn't think much of himself."  He paused, catching his new captain's steely stare.  "I didn't know him then, none of us really did, except Jenna.  Captain, there was more to him than any of us expected.  We were too busy to see past appearances at first, past our own struggles.  None of us understood...." 

His words drifted off, caught up in the recent past.  Words seemed redundant then and would have been had his audience been aware of what the memory actually involved.  As if realizing this, his eyes drifted back to the captain's.  "Give him a chance.  Don't waste time despising him for his past--"

"Like you did?"  the captain countered, her quick wit ready to feel out the weaknesses of the opposing argument, certain there was a weakness there, aside from the fact that she still had the final say on the issue. 

The challenge was accepted with a sober nod.  "Like I did," he admitted.  "Which isn't to say he hadn't made mistakes, punished himself for them more than he ever deserved, more than any officer or Maquis could--and took it out on everyone, especially himself."  An inward flick of his lips followed that confession.  "He'd be the first to own that." 

"I don't think I'm ready to entrust my ship to Mister Paris' skills just yet, Commander." 

Feigning ignorance, the demoted captain caressed the cup again.  "The standard sentence for treason is generally six to eighteen months.  How long does an admiral's son get?  Life?" 

"That was uncalled for, Chakot--"

"That's how long we'll be here," he interjected.  "You need a pilot, and he's the best we've got.  Are you going to let him waste his education and ability in hydroponics or refitting the navigation array for the rest of our journey?  You accepted B'Elanna in spite of your engineer's broken nose and her own past and already she's earned the respect of her staff--and your respect, because you gave her the chance to prove herself.  Why not Paris?"  He finally bore his eyes directly into hers, unblinking.  "I know you served with his father, and I understand how service under a great commander breeds unflinching loyalty.  But Tom Paris is not his father's son." 

She almost grinned at that painful irony.  "That much is evident." 

"But I also know how difficult it is to be a son who can't, for whatever reason, live up to his father's expectations.  Of course, my father wasn't an admiral who publicly broadcast his ambitions."  Thinking for a moment, he continued, "Think of it like this:  If the Maquis had not been officially outlawed; if, just say, the Federation supported the Maquis in the most covert way it could and you ended up out here with us when you were only trying to replenish our supplies, would you have reacted to the admiral's estranged son any differently?" 

"I don't understand where you're going with this." 

"I'm only trying to see where your prejudice lies, Captain." 

"He's turned his back on Starfleet protocols once." 

"And admitted his errors." 

"How can I trust it won't happen again?" 

"How can you trust _any_ of us?"  he returned and set his cup on the table.  "All I'm asking is that you give him as fair a chance as everyone else, that you don't judge him too quickly.  You've said that you never met him before we got here, but knew his record.  Official records paint only in black and white."  He grinned, more readily that time despite his frustration.  "And Tom's the grayest person I've had the honor of knowing."  The smile fell when he heard no response to that.  "Maybe I'm asking too much of you, but I know it's not an impossible task.  If you could get to know B'Elanna, you have a fair chance of getting to know Tom." 

"Only a fair chance?" 

"I never said he was the easiest person to know, and not for a lack of friendliness.  Congeniality is natural to him.  Getting beyond that is the challenge--and the reward.  Give yourself the opportunity to get to know him.  If anything, then for your life, you owe him at least that much." 

For the first time since their conversation began, the captain's eyes softened--a bit.  "Dismissed," she said quietly, then added in afterthought, "please."  A nod was the only reply. 

The hum of ship's systems reasserted itself in the room when the new first officer rose to stand.  He almost spoke again, but closed his mouth before she turned his way.  Turning in two steps, he hardly made sound crossing the room, so little so that the hiss of the door was a shock to the silence. 

Captain Janeway shot her gaze to the hole in the door as it shut upon itself.  "For my life," she whispered, and bore the returning silence for less than a minute.  "Computer, where is Mister Paris?" 

"Thomas Paris is in sickbay," came the reply. 

Getting to her feet, taking a breath then exhaling it completely, Janeway exited her ready room and found Commander Chakotay at his station.  She stopped at his knee and paused only enough to look at him through the corner of her eye.  "I've never been one to leave a debt unpaid," she said and continued on to the turbolift.  She closed her eyes for a moment once the doors closed. 

But opening her eyes, telling the computer her destination, she felt her better senses begin to reel.  _I have to be out my mind for considering this!_ she thought, shaking her head.  _How can I trust a man who turned his back on Starfleet, on his father, who had only just lost his wife?  A man that jokes about his exploits.  Maybe he found some sort of life in the Maquis, but there's no excuse for..._

The turbolift doors opened and the Ensign Kim entered.  The young man turned his eyes down, perhaps too politely.  "Captain."  The doors shut. 

"Where are you headed, Ensign?" 

"Oh," he said, looking up as if to make eye contact with the computer instead, "Sickbay.  Thank you, Captain."  The eyes went down again as soon as the turbolift resumed its course. 

"Not feeling well?" 

"No, Captain.  I wanted to look in on Lieutenant Paris." 

"Lieutenant Paris?" 

"I guess she's still being affected by what happened to us on Ocampa.  Tom--Mister Paris, I mean--was worried that it might happen." 

"He does seem to be protective of her." 

"Yes, Captain." 

Still trying not to be too obtrusive, she studied Ensign Kim.  The young man put up a standard, but unconvincing front.  _Though not bad for a beginner_, she smiled to herself.  "You've gotten to know them since they came aboard." 

Kim nodded.  "Yes, Captain.  They've become friends." 

"Yes."  When the doors opened again and they exited, she maneuvered herself so that she would walk beside him, even as she fought the temptation to question him.  Kim often had breakfast with the Parises and worked with B'Elanna quite a bit in engineering as they continued their repairs on Voyager.  When the couple chose to eat in public, he usually sat with them while B'Elanna, as always, picked at her food and her infamous husband mercilessly teased Neelix about health hazards.  Tom Paris, she had to admit, helped them get that food, but that attitude...  She wondered what kind of influence they would have on the ensign. 

Spotting the doors to sickbay, she reminded herself, _It's going to take time before we get comfortable with each other.  But maybe Chakotay's right.  I should at least try to look at this more neutrally, even if Mr. Paris is little help.  We're going to be here a while after all..._. 

She drew a deep breath as the doors swished open, more secure in knowing she had at least one decent reason for going through with Chakotay's request.  She knew already that the man would give her no peace if she didn't at least try, and in their situation, they needed as much peace as they could afford, as long as it didn't compromise her basic demands.  With that in mind, she straightened and propelled herself forward. 

She and Kim stopped as soon as they entered. 

"Damnit, why won't you tell me what's going on?!" 

"I haven't completed my scan, Lieutenant.  Please try to relax." 

"_You_ relax." 

Her chief engineer, already a model of forthrightness and iron-clad nerve, was trying not to cry.  The former Maquis pilot was caressing the crown of her hair, which had come loose from her on-duty knot and was bunched up around her shoulders.  He kissed her cheek tenderly, whispered something.  Her small, strong hand clutched his arm as she nodded.  He pulled up to steadily gaze into her wet eyes.  "The Doctor's doing everything he can," he said, "and so will I.  You have to believe that, B'Elanna.  You have to believe it'll be okay." 

"What the Lieutenant has to do is rest," said the Doctor crisply. 

"No!  I want Tom with me," B'Elanna said firmly, then shot her gaze to Tom.  "You won't go." 

"No way I'm leaving," he said, a piece of his cocky grin displayed for her benefit alone, "not with this Casanova and all his tools."  Pleased that his sarcasm could still produce a little smile, he turned his attention back to the EMH.  "Why don't you work on that treatment, Doc?  I'll do my part and stay out of your way." 

"She needs rest." 

"She also needs me right now, so I'm not moving." 

"Mister Paris--"

"This is ridiculous!  You're wasting all this time over my staying with my wife.  Don't you think there are more important things you should be doing?" 

"You are distracting my patient." 

B'Elanna snarled a breath and almost rose, but Tom caressed her shoulder back to the biobed.  "And you're allowing yourself to be distracted from your immediate duty.  Which do you think is worse?"  His smirk in place, he held his footing and his stare.  The Doctor blinked, then turned to his console with a huff of impatience.  Tom turned back to his main concern and leaned over her with as tender a voice as before.  "Arrogance doesn't guarantee stupidity," he told her.  "If there's a way, he'll find it." 

"Maybe this is my fault," she whispered.  "Maybe we should have gone away like we'd planned.  Even Chakotay said we might, though he needed us, that it'd be easier." 

"Shhh, be quiet.  We came to a compromise, remember?  I don't regret that.  We couldn't have foreseen what that thing would do to you, much less winding up out here in the first place." 

"Oh God, Tom, I didn't know how much I wanted it until now!  I did before, but now..." 

As the pilot leaned over his wife again, embracing her, Captain Janeway leaned towards Harry.  "Do you know what they're talking about, Ensign?" 

Kim nodded, swallowed hard.  "Kes told me she might lose it." 

"Lose what?" 

He turned to her, suddenly ignorant of the respectful distance he'd held.  "You didn't know?"  he queried.  She turned her head once in the negative.  "The Doctor didn't call you?" 

The captain shook her head again.  "I came on another matter." 

Harry accepted that with a nod.  "I guess we've all been busy....I was almost sure they'd said they were mates."  Getting only a furrowed brow in response, Kim gave her a longer look.  "Captain, you have to know B'Elanna's expecting, right?" 

Janeway blinked. 

"She seemed okay on her shift," Harry explained, "even when I talked to her at lunch.  But after dinner, Kes said, she became disoriented.  Tom had to carry her here, and then told Kes to tell me," he paused, looking over to the biobed, "they were sorry but couldn't come by." 

She knew she was gaping.  She couldn't help it.  She knew she should have known, even if nobody had informed her directly.  "When did all of this happen?" 

"Kes told me only about ten minutes ago." 

Janeway then felt a flush warm her cheeks, and she too looked again at the man and woman in the surgical bay, watched him calm her with quiet, private words, barely audible.  She had noticed in passing that Lieutenant Paris had gained some weight since Janeway had first met her, but she'd never said anything, never asked, maybe even trained herself off the curiosity because of the woman's proximity to the Maquis pilot Janeway preferred to avoid.  She'd heard Torres laugh once, though, joking about her "noble mate," but she certainly didn't know to take it literally.  For it all, the captain didn't know whether to feel stupid, angry or careless--and she didn't like any of the choices. 

With a sudden need to do something, she stepped forward and met the EMH.  "Doctor, what is her condition?" 

"Lieutenant Paris is in no danger," he said without looking up.  "My concern is for the fetus.  It is more developed than a fully human fetus would be at this stage, but its heart rate is erratic.  I'm afraid it might go into shock again.  It might abort if we don't act now.  So, if you don't mind, I have work to do.  Unless you can do a better job of convincing Mister Paris I'll do everything I can for his wife and child.  She does need to sleep." 

The captain caught the eyes of the man in question and felt her insides jump at the intensity that greeted her.  His features were set in expectation of a fight--though never so...afraid.  A glance at her chief engineer--_Why couldn't I have imagined before that she might cry?_\--proved she was outwardly calmer, though her hand firmly clutched her husband's. 

"Doctor, I think B'Elanna won't rest _unless_ Mister Paris remains, at least for now."  Ignoring the Doctor's reply, Janeway moved beside the couple, placing a reassuring hand on B'Elanna's shoulder.  "And he's right, too.  The doctor will get to the bottom of this." 

"Thank you, Captain," she said, slightly taken at the captain's sudden concern--appropriate as it may have been.  "I hope you're both right."  Turning her eyes away, and seeing the other visitor, she put on a brave grin and propped herself up a little more on the small pillow.  Though she definitely didn't feel like company, she couldn't not make an exception for him.  "Harry, why are you standing over there?  So you can _not_ visit?" 

When Harry, grinning a little for her jibe, shrugged and approached, Janeway took the Maquis pilot aside.  "Why didn't you tell us you two were expecting a child?"  she asked gently. 

Her quiet tone caught Tom's attention.  The captain had spent the better part of their new situation well away from him--and he from her.  He shook his head.  "I guess we didn't think to say anything.  We thought you knew from your intelligence, or that Chakotay would have said something." 

"But you haven't announced it?" 

He shrugged.  "It was common knowledge with the Maquis.  I guess we're not all exactly on a first name basis here yet--and we've all been busy, getting used to this, getting the ship back on its feet." 

"We have been busy," Janeway acknowledged.  "Too busy and a little too new to our situation to get a closer look at...more important things.  We still have a way to go." 

His mouth turned only slightly upwards.  "So, Captain, you think you understand now?" 

"A little.  More than I did before.  But you still haven't answered my question.  Why haven't you or B'Elanna said anything?" 

"I thought I already told you why." 

Janeway sighed, trying to avoid her common frustration with him.  "In the future, Mr. Paris, I'd like to be informed of--"

"Tom?" 

Returning to his wife's side without excuse, he reclaimed her hand and smiled down at her.  "Yes, B'Elanna?" 

"Harry doesn't know how to play pool," she told him and relished in the responding smile, in spite of her swollen eyes and underlying fears.  Then again, she was also well aware of Tom's fears, and that they were far more carefully displayed than hers could ever be. 

"Well," he chimed, "we'll just have to take care of that, won't we?  And since we have a fully functional holodeck..."  His growing grin sparked in his eyes as he let the thought filter through his mind.  "I think I'm going to enjoy this." 

"You would," B'Elanna returned, gladly distracted by the idea.  She could imagine the rations pool already. 

"Excuse me," interjected the doctor, who appeared at the bedside with a hypospray in hand, "but this patient needs rest.  I have grudgingly allowed Mister Paris to remain, but the rest of you must go." 

That time, the Doctor had no arguments, only delay.  Then sickbay's new nurse strode in and popped behind a workstation to pluck up a work coat.  She glanced at the people in the room.  "If you can't do something here, do something else," the matronly woman announced as she wrapped her ruddy hair up in a sloppy knot and tied it.  That done, the woman stepped to the Doctor's side and looked up at him with more seriousness than Janeway, Kim and the Doctor had ever seen with Jenna Harlowe. 

"Tell me what to do," she said. 

With a blink, the EMH told her what he needed.  Nodding, she turned and gave B'Elanna's hand a pat before moving around to the bio-controls.  "Don't you worry, sweet," she said.  "Baby's going to be just fine.  She's meant to be, no question." 

The Doctor's mouth straightened.  "Mrs. Harlowe, might I remind you--"

"You're wasting your time on me," she cut in as she began tapping in the test scans, looking up only once to address the other distractions there.  "Captain Janeway, Ensign Kim?"  They looked and she flashed a sweet smile.  "Get out of my office and stop lollygagging around like a couple of slugs.  Some people here have real jobs, you know." 

Without warning, B'Elanna burst out in a laugh and turned her head away.  Tom also bent his head down to hide his snickers. 

Janeway, shocked, caught Nurse Harlowe's wink. 

Choosing to let her have that one, the captain turned and left behind Kim, glancing back to see Paris mouth "thank you" to his old friend, his eyes reflecting his sincerity.  As the doors closed behind them, Janeway's smile faded as the pilot's statements began to play through her again.  "Do I understand?"  she wondered aloud. 

"Captain?" 

She looked at Ensign Kim--she hadn't meant to speak--and decided quickly to elaborate.  "Do you remember when we found you on the Ocampan homeworld?"  The young man nodded.  "I don't know if you are aware of what occurred before we could beam down to the planet." 

"Tom told me he was pretty hard on you, Captain." 

That surprised her, but she didn't address it.  "Well, do you recall the briefing just after Voyager's leaving Deep Space Nine?  --I think it should be said, I...Nobody really knew what had happened to Mister Paris after he left Earth.  I'm still unclear on the details.  What was said in that room was to the best of our knowledge at the time."  Suddenly she stopped.  _What am I defending, here?  He did commit those crimes, nearly killed..._

Kim nodded, "I know Captain." 

She eyed him, curious despite herself and thanks to Kim's unaffected responses.  She could tell he knew more about them than she would probably manage, even with Chakotay reporting to her and Tuvok's watchful eye.  "When did you know differently?" 

Then, Harry's face reflected a little fear somehow, and his eyes shuffled across the floor.  "B'Elanna corrected me.  _Really_ corrected me.  I mean, all I did was mention Tom's record and the next thing I remember..."   


**48324-48485:  Seven weeks ago**

"You ever talk about Tom Paris like that again, Starfleet, and you'll be kissing the floor of this tunnel!  Sick or not, I'll throw you over!  Do you understand me?" 

Kim drew back at her sudden ferocity, frightened even more than when they first met, when she lunged at the door, at the Ocampan doctor--and nearly at him, too.  "I...I'm sorry.  I didn't know he was your friend." 

"And you think it's impossible?"  she challenged sardonically.  "For a cocky, rebellious misfit without a shred of respect for anything but saving his ass and cashing in latinum?  Is that what they told you?"  She grabbed his arm.  "Is it?!" 

"Not exactly," he cringed.  "But...you can't blame them, can you?" 

Her eyes glistened with rage as she twisted the muscle of his arm.  "I can blame them!  I can blame them for quite a few things--including your ignorance!" 

"How is Starfleet supposed to know any differently?" 

"If they had taken care of him when they had the chance, he wouldn't have had to endure Starfleet pigs like you!  Or maybe you think he deserved your ridiculous code of honor?" 

Harry Kim nodded, but not to her question.  "He must be a pretty good friend, huh?" 

B'Elanna barely had the strength to stand, but she climbed up a step so that her eyes could be level with his.  "He's my husband," she told him coldly, raising her chin just slightly.  Her lips curled into a grin as his eyes widened, "--and-my-mate.  And you have no idea who he is aside from _that_."  With that, she whirled and continued up the stairs, somehow strengthened by the challenge met. 

Unfortunately, her companion had not been.  He clutched the rail again, swaying, fighting to keep to his feet.  Hearing his clenched moan, B'Elanna sighed.  "Come on, Starfleet, I can't blame you personally for believing everything they tell you."  He only nodded in reply and she stopped, lowered herself to a step.  "Okay, we'll rest a while." 

Sitting, nearly draped upon the unforgiving steps, Harry stole a glance at the woman above him.  "How long have you been married?" 

"Seven months," she answered. 

Kim leaned his head on the rail, pulling in a slow breath.  "Nice ceremony?" 

She nodded, her face brightening a little to recall it.  "Chakotay was so sure we were being impulsive," she mused, "and maybe we were, but he performed the service, anyway.  Tom and I just knew we didn't want to be without each other...."  Her eyes drifted off with a memory that seemed to be working a queer smile across her face, which flickered and faded as her hand drifted to her abdomen.  Then she swallowed, hard. 

Suddenly to Harry she seemed far less Klingon than he'd initially taken her to be:  No Klingon he had seen had ever looked so wistful.  Looking at her then, he remembered how her hair had shone when they were in the Ocampan light, heavy dark curls touched with sun sitting neatly around her shoulders.  He remembered how she'd fussed with it, trying unsuccessfully to braid it neatly.  Then there were her eyes, almost black but bright, almost like a bird of prey's.  Now they were intense for thinking about the man she obviously loved--her mate.  The hand that had gripped his arm with intent to bruise now laid gently across her waist, her fingers tracing a circle on her belly, which hadn't yet begun to reveal her pregnancy.  He wondered why he wouldn't think of her as the mothering type.  She definitely knew how to protect her husband.  Harry shuddered to think of how she would defend her child, if it survived this. 

Looking at her as she was lost in thought, he thought she was actually pretty, even though unusual. 

B'Elanna took a deep breath.  "He's okay


	2. Closure

  
**49137:  2.2 months later later**

He paced into the front door of his house and didn't look back to see if the door had closed.  He had been numb for an hour on the walk home from headquarters, his eyes barely watching the way.  The PADD hung in his thick fingers as he moved down the bare-walled hallway to his study. 

"Dad, is that you?  You're early!  --I know, I should have told you I was coming, but...  Dad are you all right?"  Moira's eyes widened at the sight of her father as she moved slowly down the staircase.  She couldn't remember seeing him so pale, even when her mother died.  "Are you feeling all right?"

He continued walking without answering, feeling her on his heels until he was well within his office.  There, he stopped at the desk for no particular reason but to stop.  Left in the middle of the room, Moira hesitated at first, but then tried again to assess her father's unusual state.

"Dad, what's happened?  It is Kathleen?  Is she okay?"

"Kathleen's fine," he finally said.  Without looking at her, he put the PADD down.  "I got a letter from your brother." 

"Tom?"  Her breath almost caught, but she forced herself to finish her gasp before disbelieving what she'd so hoped, that her brother would reappear somehow, somewhere...  "But I thought he was listed among the missing." 

"It was written before they disappeared," he told her tonelessly. 

She let that same breath out, oddly not effected by her moment of hope being taken away.  Moira waited many seconds before asking the logical:  "What does it say?" 

Admiral Paris shook his head.  "I don't know." 

"You don't know?  Didn't you read it?" 

He seemed to falter then, but regained his posture and took a deep breath for strength.  "I couldn't get past the first page.  I couldn't bear to read his excuses." 

"How could you know he was making excuses when you didn't even see it?"  Moira moved forward to see her father's steely expression.  "Dad, it's been almost three years since you last saw him, since Mom died.  Don't you think it means something that he tried to reach out to you?" 

She got no answer, not that she expected one.  Her father didn't like to express himself, not with anyone.  Even her mother had once mentioned that he wasn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve, nor anywhere else.  Knowing her father wouldn't offer it, she reached out for the PADD.  "I'll read it, then.  If I see any excuses, I'll give you fair warning." 

"Don't patronize me.  You should know what I went through with that boy." 

"Well, he's still my brother.  I want to know what happened to him.  When he did what he did, I was as angry as you were.  But once I'd gotten over it, he was gone.  I never got to tell him I was sorry.  So, I want to know what he had to say.  --Who's this?" 

Taking a seat on a brown velvet chair by the window, Moira stared at the picture.  It was a lovely, happy portrait that made a smile creep onto the younger of the Paris sisters' full mouth.  "He looks good, Dad.  He looks happy.  But who's the woman with him?" 

"I can't believe you're asking that, Moira.  When that portrait was made, he had probably knocked off a ship full of equipment and endangered a crew of innocent people." 

"I'm not forgetting that," Moira insisted.  "But this is different, Dad."  She smiled at the picture.  "This reminds me so much how much he looks like Mom.  He's got that grin of hers." 

"Do not presume to--"

"Dad, please, I'm not saying anything but that he looks good.  That's not a crime."  She gave up with a shake of her head and accessed the letter.  She smiled, seeing that her brother had written it on a writer's PADD.  She always liked his penmanship, something she'd somehow never learned, but Tom had taken to without much effort.  Glancing up to her clearly uncomfortable father, she drew a readying breath and quietly began to read aloud:

> Stardate 48286
> 
> Dear Dad,
> 
> How do I begin?  I've been sitting here for twenty minutes, trying to find the right words.  But I've learned that sometimes you just have to start without thinking too much about how it'll be taken.  So I'll start with what I'm thinking and take it from there. 
> 
> I've learned a lot of things, Dad, since the last time we met.  But considering where I am now and what I'm doing, I think it's right to let you know what's happened to me.  You deserve the chance to understand. 
> 
> I want you to know that I'm not the same scared, angry and--yes--drunk kid that left Earth two years ago.  A lot of things have changed.   
> 

Moira felt a little lump in her throat.  That had been the first page from which her father could not progress.  Her father was unmoved.  She looked down again and scrolled the page down:   


> I know you don't want to read this.  I know it's hard to let go of my record and reputation for as long as it will take to tell you what I want to say.  Please try to, anyway.  I'm not asking you to think of me as some sort of Robin Hood for being in the Maquis.  I'm not that at all.  The rebellion is hard and many people, both innocent and involved, have been killed.  There's nothing glamorous or fantastic about fighting for this cause.  But if it means anything, I do believe in it and will continue to believe, even if we might be doomed. 
> 
> It was for a little girl who never had the chance to grow up, who was put to death so brutally I nearly lost my mind looking at her, that I finally took the steps I needed to sort out my own life.  This was just over a year ago.  I can't begin to tell you how much longer it seeMs.
> 
> I was another person then.  I'd given up, stopped caring about myself.  I felt that I had let everybody--you and Mom, especially--down.  All I had ever wanted was to make you proud of me.  Suddenly, any possibility of that was gone.  Having given everything to that lost cause, my life was over when I made that stupid mistake and tried to cover it up. 
> 
> Why did I do it?  I tried for the longest time to figure out what made those wrong words come out of my mouth.  The truth is, I wasn't strong enough then to accept my mistake.  I was afraid to admit that I'd killed my closest friends.  I was also afraid of disappointing you.  I wasn't thinking at the time that turning my back on my responsibility would disappoint you more.  When I did lie, Dad, my conscience couldn't take it.  I paid dearly for it.  I couldn't live with it.  It drove me down in every way possible and I did everything I could to try to bury it, until I was in that hearing room confessing my crime.  Looking back on it now, I still think coming forward with the truth was the right thing to do.  In spite of the pain it caused for all of us, I did the right thing in the end. 
> 
> I might have eventually come to that conclusion while still at home if Mom hadn't died.  She had been my sole support during the court martial, even if I pushed her away.  Humiliation is not easy to share, even with someone you love.  She kept up with me, though.  She even came by my apartment when I got home to try and talk to me.  But I wasn't ready to move past the self-hatred, or the guilt.  She called Jenna to come after me--and thankfully Jenna is probably the most stubborn woman alive, because she kept me in an iron grip until I seemed safer, and then forced me to begin to deal with myself.  In the beginning, I resented her help and Mom's interference.  Then Mom was dead, and not only had I lost my mother, who understood and loved me more than anyone, but all my hopes for coming home somehow, someday, and any idea that I might be accepted or forgiven again--all of that was gone with her.  So I left with Jenna. 
> 
> Before and after I confessed, I turned my back on everyone and everything that might have gotten close to me.  I knew all the while that I needed to change, that I wanted to change.  Even when I tried to the first time to sort it out, on Tinalat, I knew I wanted to.  But it was too easy, being drunk, avoiding it in one way or another, at the same time punishing myself by becoming as dead as my friends, as dead as my mother, who I pushed away and lost forever.  Then I saw that little girl. 
> 
> To this day, I have nightmares about her, I see and feel those moments all over again.  But I let those memories come, now.  Seeing her reminds me that I can't waste my time being guilty or worrying about what everyone thinks and to be thankful for the life I have.  Seeing her makes me humbler somehow.  She reminds me that I am alive, that my life is mine to live and make the most of.  I know I have to make my own life, Dad.  I haven't turned back since I realized that. 

Moira touched the corner of her eye, glanced up to see her father's head bent, his hand resting on the corner of the desk.  He still hadn't turned around.  Moira scrolled the page and read ahead with wide eyes, sucking in a breath as she took it in.  Smiling, she went back to the top to read with a little more excitement:   


> The lady in the picture is B'Elanna Torres.  She and I met not long after I recovered my senses and started over.  She'd had her troubles, too, and somehow we found a way to grow together, to find support and trust in each other.  I don't think I could have come this far without her.  It happened almost overnight, our falling in love.  Well, actually, I loved her the moment I laid eyes on her.  (I know you don't believe in that kind of thing, so you'll have to take my word for it.)
> 
> The proudest day of my life was when we were married six months ago...

Moira saw the admiral's head come up at that and so she continued: 

> ...until we learned that we're expecting our first child, which should arrive in about six months.  This alone is proof of how far we've both come:  A year ago, neither of us wanted to give ourselves to anyone, and now we're committed to each other and the family we've made together.  We both know it's been a quick change for us, but we want it and plan to keep taking life one step at a time and be thankful for what we've got.  I think that says something, doesn't it?  I hope it does, Dad.  It says a lot to me. 
> 
> You might not be proud of me, you might not be able to accept me, but maybe it will give you some comfort to know that I'm happy, I'm better, and I have made as much peace with myself as it's possible to here.  Don't get me wrong:  I'm always working on it, every day.  But B'Elanna and I are both far enough along to know that we overcame the worst, and are continuing to live in a better direction. 
> 
> If you're reading this letter, then our neighbor, Eric Schiller, has followed our wishes and delivered our letters to the appropriate parents.  We thought we should leave something behind us, just in case we couldn't get back home.  Included at the end of this letter is another, for B'Elanna's father.  We would greatly appreciate it if you'd pass it on to him.  The last time B'Elanna heard about him, he was in Mexico.  But since he works for Starfleet, we thought it'd be safest to send it through you. 
> 
> But don't think that just because you've gotten this letter something terrible has happened to us.  It's just as easy to say we're still away from home.  But if we are dead, know that we died having achieved in our lives exactly what we wanted:  Freedom and peace of mind.  Know that we did learn to love, unselfishly, and how to be loved, and how to give ourselves to something other than ourselves that we truly believed in. 
> 
> And Dad, I hope you know that I don't have any hard feelings for you.  It took some time to accept the fact that I would never be what you had expected, and that I was wrong to try to be.  Though you did interfere with what I wanted, I was wrong to take against you those things I might have changed myself but didn't have the courage to.  I placed too much importance on your opinion of me, and I paid for it.  In spite of that, of what's passed between us, I still love you, Dad.  I will always care about what happens to you.  Know that if anything. 
> 
> Your son, Tom.   
> 

Moira's smile had faded with the last part.  Clicking off the PADD, she looked longingly to her father, waiting for him to suggest a fate different to what Tom had suggested.  The mission of the Starship Voyager had, since its departure from DS9, been confidential, but Moira knew that the ship had been chasing her brother's before it, too, disappeared, with no evidence of destruction.  That was the key to Moira's continued faith that her brother was still alive.  Having read the letter, she hoped even harder, and hoped her father thought the same. 

"Thanks for reading it to me," said the admiral, his voice painfully pleasant.  "Do you want to keep it?  Maybe Kathleen would like to read it." 

Moira nodded with a sigh.  "Yes, Dad, I will," she said.  "Thanks.  I'll bring it back to you when I'm done."  Knowing she could go no further with him, swallowing her disappointment, she turned and left the room. 

Finally alone in his study, he found his chair and sat silently for a time.  Minutes passed.  Numb, thoughtless minutes wasted as he watched an antique clock tick and tock, then chime with the quarter hour.  His eyes found a portrait of Alaine on the wall.  His mouth drew down.  "You win." 

With that, he opened his desktop access panel to start working again.  Then a thought came to him, a pique of curiosity.  With a curl of his brow, he accessed another databank. 

"Computer," he said, his cultured baritone as unshaken as before, perhaps even stronger, "Open all Starfleet files pertaining to the Maquis and display the full personal record of B'Elanna Torres.  Voice print authorization alpha-psi zero-one, Admiral Owen Jacob Paris."  As the information appeared before him, the admiral straightened a picture of his daughters on the left side of his desk and muttered to himself, "Leave it to Tom to marry a Klingon and make babies in a war zone."   


**50812:  1.7 years later**

He stared down into her eyes, the most captivating eyes he had ever known, or would ever know.  Dark yet bright and intent on all they found, her eyes alone could hold captive the very life within him. 

He moved again and her eyes closed.  Her small, strong fingers gripped his shoulder, a little smile crossing her mouth as she drew another trembling breath.  Tom placed his lips to hers, brushing them lightly, feeling her response; soon, he pressed his kiss more deeply and ground a few short thrusts into her.  They both had to part for breaths at that.  He wove his fingers into the nape of her tousled hair to hold the back of her neck.  His other hand wandered back, sliding down the smooth muscles of her thigh, stopping at her knee.  His fingers fanned around and under it, and with his fingers alone, he guided her leg up before pressing himself into her again. 

B'Elanna's eyes shot open, then closed again as she arched her neck over his strong fingers, baring her neck to him.  His mouth caressed it, slowly, gently, progressing aside, warmer with each nibble and kiss.  Beneath her ear, his teeth caught her skin.  Gasping aloud, clutching his shoulder, she locked her free ankle behind his knee and pressed inward to encourage him.  She moaned softly, quivering as he massaged away the shock of the mark with tender kisses, counterpoint to his dominant motion, to which she kept tempo with urging fingers pressed into the small of his back. 

A flicker of a smile drifted over B'Elanna's lips as she felt him building, felt herself approaching climax, too, and she nudged his temple to direct his mouth to hers once again.  Tom barely glanced at where he was going as he complied.  He knew the way well. 

Even so, their contacts were short for need of breath, their equal and growing momentum; marked with murmurings, softly singing gasps and unfinished words barely answered.  Yet they knew each others' meaning.  Tom ran his hand from B'Elanna's neck and across her shoulder; threading it down her arm to grab her hand from his back.  Fingers wove together, clutched and finally braced down into the mattress as a deep shudder enveloped them.  Their eyes opened and locked.   


B'Elanna held her robe warmly around her, luxuriating, as she always had, at the feeling of having her hair brushed, shivering a little every time Tom stopped long enough to give her neck a kiss.  _ Am I ever going to get over that?_ she wondered and knew she probably wouldn't.  A few seconds later, he put the brush into her hair and drew it down, careful for knots, over her slim shoulders, stretching the curls on her back.  Then he began again with equal care.

She looked at the bed in the corner, all of rumpled blankets and tossed aside pillows.  "Before they come through to unload the plasma canisters, we have to remember to make the bed this time," she said with a little grin. 

Tom chuckled.  "Yeah, that was a little embarrassing, wasn't it?" 

"Embarrassing?"  She turned incredulous stare back to him.  "Having our captain come to inspect a ship full of galacite only to find out her envoys had been consummating their marriage along the way?" 

There, Tom laughed.  "And festively on top of it!  I'll never forget the look on her face, either.  She'd already had enough trouble with Vorik taking on T'Nar."  He found a knot at the end of her hair and began to carefully untangle it.  "I guess we do manage to remind her from time to time that we have sex.  Maybe if she'd promote Chakotay back to captain, it'd be easier.  Then she won't always be the outranking officer." 

"Tom!"  B'Elanna slapped his thigh.  "You're really rotten, you know.  You have to know it's difficult for her sometimes." 

"I do," he admitted, "and I feel sorry for her sometimes.  But she's the one who chooses to live as she does.  Besides, and more to the point, she should understand that when she sends us out alone on the Marseilles for an overnight mission, we are going to sleep together.  This is our ship and I am the chief engineer's husband--and thrall.  She knows that."  The knot dissolved, he ran his fingers through the depth of her soft curls, marveling as he did the first time at how thick it was, how pleasant to touch. 

"Just let's not forget to clean up.  It'll be less work later." 

"I'll take care of it," he said, lightly suggestive as he pulled the weight of her hair up to press his lips to her nape again, to breathe in her scent as he kissed her neck.  "But remind me one of these days to make a door for the cabin," he muttered as he nuzzled down the curve of her shoulder.  With another taste of her warm, aromatic skin, he felt her touch his cheek. 

"Tom, Voyager will be meeting us in only a couple more hours."  Her voice was as desirous as it was knowing.  "I wouldn't get us started again if I were you." 

"I know," he whispered, and kissed once more before pulling her close.  Placing his chin on her shoulder, he held her in that relaxed embrace, his hands atop hers.  "Do you think it worked?" 

"I hope so," she whispered, pressing her cheek to his.  She smiled.  "Probably.  After all, the Marseilles has always been a lucky place." 

"Yes it has," he affirmed and gave her a little squeeze, "in more ways than one." 

B'Elanna closed her eyes, content with the warmth between them there, in that little compartment.  They had learned about Alaine there, Tom had proposed to her there, Alaine had taken her first steps there--so many memories, and hopefully one more.  "So, how long should we wait until we ask Kes for a second opinion?" 

Tom did not move, but his brow furrowed bemusedly.  "Kes?  Why should we ask her?" 

"The Doctor's a bigmouth," B'Elanna replied, "and Jenna's not much better.  You could do it, but I'd like Kes to be in on it too."  She felt his smile against her cheek.  "So, when should we ask?" 

Tom kissed her askance.  "We should wait a few days," he suggested, "before we invite her for dinner.  Then we can let her in on our ruse." 

B'Elanna laughed.  "We have been sneaking around like a couple of criminals to make this happen, haven't we?" 

His voice was tender as he closed his eyes, his grin pure satisfaction.  "It was worth it."   


**51375:  6.8 months later**

"What, don't you think it's worth our time to get involved?" 

"It's not worth the time or resources." 

"Come on, Owen, Starfleet has more than enough and you know it.  Why not give up some of your precious ships?" 

The admiral rose his brow to the bait.  Jastik, he knew, loved a debate as much as he liked to string them along.  "Because they're better utilized elsewhere." 

"Where?  In the Demilitarized Zone?  That's over now, my friend." 

Owen smiled and leaned back in his chair.  "Jastik, I'd rather not discuss these issues at present, but I will say that we've got enough to worry about around the DMZ these days, more trouble than the Maquis could offer.  Why should we involve ourselves in a conflict that has nothing to do with us, has no strategic importance, or for a people who has openly opposed Federation policy?  Now, if there are issues of aid, to their population, for instance, that we can give them, I'm all for it.  But to lend out weaponry?  That's more trouble than it's worth, yes." 

He almost got a reply--it was right on Jastik's open grin--but the man stopped before starting.  "Owen--Klenman." 

The admiral turned, still smiling, to see the same lady staring at him, PADD in hand. 

She seemed unusually uncomfortable.  "Forgive me for interrupting your lunch, Admiral, but," she came forward and handed him the PADD, "Admiral Leese suggested I give this to you in person.  I just got the communiqué from Starbase 173." 

Owen's grin faded to a pleasant grin; his eyes were still locked on Klenman.  "Bad news?" 

"No sir." 

She didn't elaborate, but the admiral knew by the look on her face it wasn't confidential, otherwise Leese wouldn't have sent her.  He'd have been contacted, instead.  "Well, then, what is it?" 

"It's Voyager," Klenman said and drew another breath, finding a tiny, anticipant grin.  "Kathryn Janeway's alive.  So is Tom." 

Owen's eyes flew down to the PADD and he gripped it.  "Do my daughters know yet?" 

"I took the liberty of sending them messages." 

"Thank you." 

Jastik had forgotten all about his debate by then.  "Owen, congratulations!  That's great news!  Your son, Tom, right?"  Owen nodded.  "That's great news." 

"Yes.  Good news, indeed."  Owen straightened, put aside his napkin.  "Actually, I should check up on this, if you don't mind, Jastik." 

"No, no!  Go, Owen."  He continued to smile even as his friend and the captain left the room.  Jastik called out, "And tell me of what other news comes!" 

The admiral did not turn back to acknowledge or agree to the request.  Jastik would think perhaps he hadn't heard, he knew.  He said nothing to Klenman, either, but kept his eyes only on where he was going, not knowing what he should feel.  What disturbed him most was that despite his quickened pulse and he didn't know what he felt.   
-

Her eyes were locked on the panel as the fluctuations began to stabilize into a regular pattern.  "Wait, I'm getting something," she said quickly. 

"The relay has been reactivated," was the confirmation. 

B'Elanna held her posture straight despite the forward weight, standing turned aside so she could get close to the information she read.  The readings were definitely coming back then.  Translating the algorithms and astrometric calculations easily in her mind, flickers of expression swept over her lips.  Her heart beat quickly, hoping it would happen, knowing it had to happen, had to be.  When the Doctor finally came back through, she smiled brightly, feeling the relief they had all been waiting for. 

"He's back," she breathed, and then her other concern caught up with her.  "Seven, I'm going to tell Tom."  Moving away from the panel, she turned a smirk behind her.  "Try not to fry anybody else while I'm gone."  The Borg woman did not dignify her jibe with an answer and B'Elanna didn't care.  She walked straight out of the lab without looking back. 

"Computer, locate Tom Paris." 

"Thomas Paris is in sickbay." 

She smiled again and sped herself as best she could without either running or falling. 

"Lieutenant Paris!" 

She looked back and laughed lightly as Hogan approached her.  "Yes, Frank, the Doctor's back," she said quickly, not stopping as he caught up to her, "and no, I don't know how successful he was.  I'm going right now to see." 

Hogan's eyes were bright with expectation.  "But if the Doctor's back, then he must have completed his mission.  He must have gotten our letters through." 

B'Elanna nodded.  "Hopefully," she said, but gave in as soon as she saw his face.  She stopped in front of the turbolift and put a hand on her old comrade's arm.  "Most likely."  A last look at his happy face as the lift doors closed kept her smile fresh for the remainder of her trip to sickbay.  Every step to her brought another level of excitement.  She was barely contained when she entered and saw the Doctor, allowing Jenna to run a tricorder over him while he talked to Captain Janeway and Chakotay about his adventures in the Alpha Quadrant. 

"I thought you'd be down next." 

B'Elanna turned.  Tom stood in the entrance of the doctor's office, in his customary gray coat, leaning against the doorframe with casually crossed arms and a smile that lit his eyes.  Pushing himself off with an elbow, he moved to her and she embraced him warmly, if not a little awkwardly.  "I had to see for myself," she breathed. 

Tom kissed her, gave her belly a gentle caress as he did so again, then wove his fingers into hers as they looked back to their friends.  "There's nothing like a shot of good news after such a long wait." 

"How's the Doctor?" 

"Just fine, Chief," Tom said.  "And he was successful.  He talked to HQ.  They know.  They got our letters." 

B'Elanna shook her head in amazement.  "After all this time, it's almost unreal," she said, walking with him to the Doctor's side.  Together, they listened to the remainder of his report, losing interest as soon as he began to harp on his part in the effort.

Silently taking over Jenna's examination, B'Elanna examined the readings of the Doctor for herself, and shrugged when he looked to her curiously.  "Your matrix is stable," she told him, "but I'd like to run a few diagnostics, just in case.  You've come a long way and I don't want to find any anomalies a month from now." 

The Doctor was impenetrably cheerful.  "I assure you, Lieutenant Paris, I was not affected by my travels.  In fact, I--"

"Doctor's orders," she cut in, giving him a firm stare.  He grudgingly quieted.  B'Elanna punched up a diagnostic on the tricorder.  "This won't take long," she told him, all business as she prepared the scan with deft fingers.  "I'll run the others from Engin--" She stopped and sucked a breath when a muscle in her back cramped up and a pain shot under ribs.  Her hand shot to her side and she instinctively steadied her breathing.  When Tom came close and placed his hand atop hers, she glanced back and nodded.  "Nothing unusual," she said and exhaled the pain.  "Just a cramp." 

Jenna snickered as B'Elanna went straight back to work.  "You're going to drop that ball soon," she cautioned.  "I'd take it easy were I you." 

"I still have a couple weeks," B'Elanna said while reading the tricorder.  She entered another parameter and caught Jenna's wise grin.  "What?" 

"Even your eyes say it, B'Elanna:  You're going to drop that ball--soon."  Her voice was perfectly certain. 

The Doctor sniffed.  "More wives tales, Nurse Harlowe?"  he asked.  "Last week, you insisted that Lieutenant Paris should use lavender oil to help her sleep." 

"Lavender oil relaxes the nerves," Jenna responded with practiced obstinacy.  "I thought you were programmed in alternative medicine.  Moreover, you know well B'Elanna and Tom prefer nature to hyposprays--anything to keep them away from you, I'd think." 

"The week before, you determined the exact length of labor by the way she was walking." 

The Doctor's chipper sarcasm made a muscle jump in Jenna's neck and she squinted to lean into his face.  "I predicted my own and all my neighbors on Tinalat--not to mention Alaine's birth, if you may remember." 

"Coincidence," the Doctor snipped. 

"Bullshit," Jenna shot back. 

Janeway trained her face down before playing referee.  This was especially hard with B'Elanna, Tom and Chakotay all chuckling over Jenna's fearless defense of her traditions.  "Jenna, I think this is a very old debate that nobody's going to win." 

Jenna wasn't deterred.  "Well I'm not giving in to Dr. Jekyll.  I know what I know." 

Chakotay joined the captain, then, looking at Jenna's flushed face.  Only she could get so angry over nothing.  "But you have to admit the Doctor's right.  You can't prove many of your assertions, like that B'Elanna's having a boy because of how she's carrying." 

There, Jenna's eyes shot wide and a furious smile broke over her face.  "_You_ go out and get yourself knocked up five times with three boys and _then_ come tell me how wrong I am!  Really, Chakotay!  I don't go on hazing you about the spider stuck on your head, so don't you come in here telling me how I'm to believe what you think!  If you think you've got that right, you know where you can stick that rock!"  She spun, kissed B'Elanna and Tom in turns--"See you at dinner," she said--and succinctly and strode out. 

Tom burst out in laughter, B'Elanna not far behind, and hard enough that she had to hold onto the edge of the biobed lest she lose her balance.  Classic, garrulous Jenna never failed to entertain them.  Looking at her old friend, B'Elanna managed, "Thanks, Chakotay.  I needed that." 

"If only she weren't such an excellent nurse, Doc," Tom chuckled, "you'd have an excuse to reassign her." 

"I'd love to see her reaction to _that_," B'Elanna added between giggles. 

The Doctor shook his head, smirking with the lingering disbelief that he'd been stuck with the pert Maquis nurse for the duration of their journey.  "I'm finding more and more that Nurse Harlowe belongs in a sanitarium--or a coven." 

Tom's laughter faded at that.  "Come on, Doc, you have to know it's hard for her." 

"I would think it _would_ be hard to try to defend oneself on so many levels." 

"That's not what I mean," Tom said.  "Her children are finding out right now that she's alive.  She's been separated from them for almost five years now."  His features grew bittersweet as he remembered, "Lizzie was Alaine's age the last time I saw her.  She was just like her mother, too-- into everything and loud as hell."  He looked at the Doctor again.  "Her traditions can be silly, Doc, but they mean something to her." 

B'Elanna nodded her agreement as she closed the tricorder.  "She keeps those ways because it's what she can lean on.  I can't imagine how hard it was for her to leave her children at Grinara with the other survivors of Tinalat.  Frankly, to this day I don't know how she did it, for the best or not.  She never talked about it, just kept flying around doing things her way.  But now she's having to face the fact all over again they're growing up without her." 

Tom looked at Chakotay, who looked as if he'd been slapped in the face with those reminders.  "You should have seen her trying to write those letters so quickly.  I didn't think she'd get it done." 

"She almost didn't," B'Elanna said. 

Janeway sighed, "I think it was hard for everyone to put all our lives and feelings down in just a few minutes, since none of us expected to be out here.  Too many loose ends."  She noticed the Parises shrug at her words.  "I would have thought it was hard for the two of you as well." 

Tom and B'Elanna looked at each other, then back to the captain.  "We settled our affairs before we left Avalar," Tom told her.  "We left letters for our parents, just in case." 

B'Elanna grinned a little.  "This time around, it was just saying we're still alive," she said and patted her well-rounded belly, "aside from a couple updates."   
-

"Dad!  Dad!  Did you hear?!"  Moira sped down the main corridor as he turned.  She threw herself into her father's arms, not caring if he minded such a public display.  "Oh, Dad, I'm so happy!  Wait until Adam hears!"

The admiral smiled at his daughter and allowed her that moment by returning the embrace.  "It's still going to take some time to develop a way to get them home, Moira," he reminded her, pulling her back to an arm's distance.  "It's not as though they'll be back tomorrow." 

"I know," she said, "but it's twice as good as hearing he was okay to begin with."  She beamed up to him.  "Though maybe it wasn't as good as hearing I was an aunt and that you were a grandfather and about to be twice over."  She laughed aloud, still bursting with the excitement she'd dared not hope for, but was indeed true.  "After all this time, I thought I wouldn't know what to say, but I've written a tome already.  Oh, Dad, I nearly burst when I got the news!  Isn't it wonderful?" 

"Yes, Moira.  It's nice to know he's alive."  He caught her look and nodded, insisting, "And yes, Moira, it's good to know he's safe.  I'm certain you'll spoil him and his kids to death if we do find a way to get them back.  Now, I have to get some rest.  I have a breakfast to attend in the morning, and you have a home to get to as well.  Tell Adam I expect his report before dinner." 

"I will," Moira answered.  "Don't forget to have your letter ready when they're done--and that could be soon, you know.  Of course you know, but you know what I mean.  I'll come and pick it up for you if you want.  Oh, Dad, I'm so happy!  Thank you!"  She quickly kissed his cheek before hurrying off to meet her husband. 

The admiral watched her go. 

He turned to continue on his way. 

He had seen the meeting.  As an admiral with priority clearance, that alone gained him access to the file.  He had watched it, listened carefully to the story of the necessary blending of the two crews, of their trials, their successes, of them themselves.  He heard the EMH speak of his son.  His son was alive. 

Tom was alive.  His wife was expecting their second child soon.  Tom still captained his scout ship when occasion served, sometimes took Voyager's conn when his skills were needed.  Tom was an excellent medic.  Tom was still studying medicine.  He was alive and well. 

He'd sent another letter. 

Owen's smile faded as soon as the view of his daughter did, though he truly did enjoy seeing Moira so happy about Tom's situation.  Silently, he turned to continue on his way.  His steps were slow, and though he realized it, he couldn't manage to pick up his pace as much as he couldn't make himself feel any better about hearing about his son.  It was good, of course, to read Kathryn Janeway's appreciative appraisal of Tom.  It was good to know he was alive.  Tom was just fine. 

His plodding pace made his exit from Headquarters slow, and he was sorry for it when he saw Nechayev approaching.  Reflexively, he gritted his teeth. 

"Owen," said the admiral, a satisfied smile crawling onto her mouth, "how are you?" 

"I'm well, thank you." 

"That's not what I meant.  You did hear the news?" 

"Of course I did." 

"And what do you think?  That was quite a surprise, even for me." 

"It was.  I think it's quite a relief for all the families.  Moira is very excited.  I'm certain she's told half of the continent already that she's an aunt."  On that, he thought for a moment.  "I should make sure Tom's wife's message, if she sent one, gets to the proper people.  You know how the Klingons can be with message routing." 

"I'll help you find them," Alynna said.  "It would be a shame if her letters didn't get there." 

"From what I've learned, she was estranged from her parents, too, when she joined the Maquis."  His grin held no humor.  "No wonder they got on so well.  Well, maybe they've been good for each other.  They both seemed to need that support." 

Alynna knew the tone, yet still rose her brow to Owen's last statement.  "Then you've looked up her records?"  she asked, not mentioning that she had done the same. 

He gave a slow, single nod.  "Might as well, seeing as she's family, now.  She's the mother of my grandchildren, Tom's wife.  Being here and having some connections, I should be the one to be the go-between." 

She eyed him at that, all right right words and perfect civility.  "Excuse me, Owen, but you don't seem particularly happy about it." 

"Forgive me, Alynna, but I don't think it's your place to question how I feel."  With a breath, he bowed his head shortly.  "Now, if you don't mind, I need to find out--"

"You're still angry with him," Nechayev told him as soon as she formulated the thought.  "You're afraid that because he never reclaimed his commission, even though it was offered, he's still a Maquis.  Owen, even for him, that was a long time ago." 

He had to give her that point, and so he stopped himself again to answer her charge.  "I loved my son, Alynna," he told her, "but you can't ask me to drop everything and forgive him.  He lied to them, to my face, threw his life away and never looked back, never considered how it had affected us until he didn't have to face it.  Alaine was traumatized by the whole affair.  Shows her strength that she still stood beside him, but it crushed her." 

Alynna said nothing.  His gaze turned away. 

"I can't imagine what he was thinking when he turned Kathryn down," he continued.  "You're right, I don't trust him.  He seems just as aimless as he did when he left and doubly determined to go his own way.  I'm glad he's been accepted on Voyager and made a good family, but he's still on random pattern, which doesn't prove to me that, if they get back, he'll be any better off than before." 

"Maybe," Alynna allowed.  "Considering Voyager's records, however, I don't think that he'd still be untrustworthy." 

There, the admiral snorted humorlessly.  "Work?  According to Captain Janeway's logs, he's Everyman of Voyager--this after his education and for all his talents.  All of it thrown away.  For what?  He could utilizing his time developing Voyager's assets, researching a better propulsion source--doing what he was properly trained to do, not waste his time mucking in the dirt and making house calls for an EMH.  Here he has an opportunity to find some straight direction in his life and..."  He shook his head.  "I can only wonder how he spends his time."   


**51388:  Five days later**

"I'm getting tired of hearing this," Tom said, his tone rising in volume and frustration with every word.  Beads of sweat had formed on his brow again as he quickly, yet carefully, attempted the manual manipulation he had only studied, never done.  There was only one other choice open to them, and that, he and B'Elanna agreed, would be the last resort.  He removed his hand only seconds before the throes returned. 

Harry cringed as a yell ricocheted through the small cabin, and he picked up the tricorder he'd dropped when the sound shocked it out of his hand.  That was the end of the dose of pain inhibitors, he knew and looked, more pressingly then, at the woman in the door.  "I know this might be unfamiliar to you, but B'Elanna and Tom need our help now, and you've got nothing else to do." 

Seven of Nine perused the scene without blinking.  "I would be of little use to...this." 

"But Seven--"

"To hell with Seven!  And to hell with you!  I don't need your help!  So _shut up or get the hell out_!"  B'Elanna sucked a sharp breath and cried out again, boring her short nails deep into the mattress.  "Goddamnit!  --Tom, get them the hell out of here before I get up and kill _th_em!"  She threw her head back, between crying and growling and hyperventilating as Tom caressed her belly. 

Kim sighed.  "I'm sorry if Seven doesn't underst--"

"_Neither_ of you are helping here," Tom snapped, increasingly as agitated as B'Elanna had understandably become.  Nothing was going easily:  His wife was in labor and having complications, the rendezvous was still fifteen hours away, the nebula they were mining had crashed the sensors and communications, and Harry and Seven were acting like idiots. 

Tom shot each a glare as he continued his work.  "Harry, load 20cc's of imuline and give it to me.  Seven, get your ass over here and hold her hand.  No arguments.  If I hear another word out of either of you, I'll personally kick you out the back hatch.  Understood?" 

Giving it one last thought and with a downward turn of her mouth, Seven lowered herself to sit behind B'Elanna and mechanically offer her hands.  When B'Elanna grabbed them and clutched, the former Borg winced. 

Meanwhile, Harry found and loaded the fresh hypospray.  "Tom, I'm sor--"

"I mean it, Harry.  Just shut up and let me concentrate."  Tom took the instrument and gently administered the imuline into his wife's belly.  His voice softened as quickly as the medicine began to do its job.  "That's better.  B'Elanna, you should feel a little less pain now, too."

True to his words, she did relax slightly, the most searing part of the pain having quickly diminished.  "Yes," she gasped, struggling to collect her breath before the next contraction hit.  "Is it okay?" 

Tom checked the tricorder and grinned.  "The baby's fine and you're doing great.  But it has to come soon, B'Elanna.  If it doesn't, we'll have to go to option number two.  There's not much more either of us can do about that."  He nodded after she did, knowing they both didn't like the idea.  "But only if it's necessary."  He tossed a cloth to Seven, who was flexing a hand that B'Elanna had released.  "Wipe her brow--gently," he ordered.  "Don't worry, you can get back to your more relevant verteron collecting soon." 

"You said that sixteen hours ago," Seven informed him, yet did as she was told, dabbing the water away from the engineer's face.  "It is interesting that the human race managed to replicate itself." 

"Screw off!"  B'Elanna lashed, feeling another throe come on.  "You have no right to judge something you or your Borg bastards have never bothered to--do!  Oh _God!_" Her grip tightened on the hand she still held and she heaved for air.  A few of Seven's knuckles cracked.  "Tom?!" 

Tom had been at a little work during the break and he looked to his wife as soon as the contractions resumed.  "No, B'Elanna, no more holding back.  The imuline did the trick.  Time to push, now.  Look at me, B'Elanna.  Okay?  Okay, here we go.  Start counting...  One, two, three..."   


"Captain to the bridge.  Have you reestablished communications?" 

"No, Captain, but Mr. Paris seems to be heading in." 

"All stop.  Let him come in on his own.  Janeway out."  She moved to the control table and punched a few commands.  _The one time I consider bringing Alaine to meet her parents and they have to put me on my toes again.  _ The bay doors slid open.  "The nebula's ion field must have collapsed the communication grid," she said to Chakotay, quiet enough that Alaine wouldn't hear. 

Chakotay nodded.  "Maybe because it's Barolian.  The comm grid still is, anyway." 

Luckily, the girl, though an open-eyed two and a half, would not have been interested for all her anxiousness, even if she did know what the adults were talking about.  To Alaine Paris' credit, she remained by the control panel as her parents' craft, more than thrice the length and breadth of a shuttle and sleek as a hawk, folded its maneuvering wings, passed through the annular forcefield and landed--not so gracefully--on the deck. 

When the bay doors began to close, however, Alaine finally jumped forward, her blue eyes glimmering with her smile for her parents' return.  "Mommy, Daddy!"  she called.  The hatch opened and two weary faces appeared.  But they were not the ones the little girl expected.  "Harry, Seven, where are Mommy an' Daddy?" 

Harry smiled in spite of his exhaustion.  They hadn't slept all night, trying to catch up after their unexpected adventure.  "Why don't you go and find them?  They have a surprise for you." 

Janeway perked.  "A surprise?"  She looked at Chakotay, who was grinning already. 

Seven gave a nod.  "Lieutenant Paris gave birth fourteen hours ago." 

"More than a week early!"  the captain laughed.  "They do find a way to keep us jumping." 

"And Jenna raking it in on the ration pool," Chakotay added. 

Ignoring the chatter behind her, Alaine scurried off to the hatch, expertly climbing up the barrel step under the opening.  The familiar recesses of the Marseilles were a little disorganized, but it didn't bother the child enough to stop her from climbing to the upper deck corridor.  Finding her mother's big uniform tunic and her father's coat thrown haphazardly on the floor, she furrowed her brow, but hurried forward to the sleeping cabin.  There, she stopped abruptly and stared. 

Her parents were in the bed.  Propped against the pillows, he had his arm around her and she was laying on her side.  She had on her dark blue robe, open just enough to let the baby reclined between them suckle as they doted over him. 

When they saw her, they smiled and beckoned to her.  Alaine happily crawled up onto the sea of rumpled blankets and into her father's outstretched arm. 

Tom kissed his daughter's head as he pulled her close.  "Boy, did we miss you." 

"Me too."  She looked a little more shyly at her mother, who looked pale and tired--an appearance foreign to Alaine.  "Mommy, you okay?" 

B'Elanna's voice was still weak, rather hoarse, but she smiled despite it.  "I'm a little sleepy, but I'm just fine, sweetheart.  Daddy fixed me all up.  Come and meet your baby brother." 

Alaine's small red pout curled up into a curious grin.  Her parents had explained as best they could to a toddler about the baby in her mother's belly, that she would be a sister soon.  Leaning over to see the infant as her mother uncovered him a little more, Alaine saw that it was true.  "I'm a baby siser?"  she asked, fidgeting her hair out of her eyes. 

Tom met B'Elanna's bright eyes above their daughter's head.  "You bet you are," he told the girl as he began to braid her hair back for her.  Like her mother, Alaine was blessed with those dark, thick locks begging to be loose.  Tom loved it, B'Elanna lightheartedly felt sorry for giving it to her.  As he repaired the braid, Tom added, "I think he's a lucky little brother." 

Alaine reached over and touched the warm, pink infant.  "My baby broter," she said. 

"Yes," B'Elanna said and swelled with a tired grin as she stared at her daughter.  "We are so proud of you," she whispered, nodding when Alaine seemed to query that.  "We were thinking about how how you came to us.  It wasn't easy, either, but look at you now."  B'Elanna reached out for her daughter's hand, caressed it.  "You know your Daddy and I love you very much." 

"Me too," Alaine chimed--her favorite phrase--and scooted carefully up to kiss her mother's cheek.  In the corner of her eye, she saw people coming and brightened to see who it was.  "Takotay, I gotta broter." 

"So I see," answered Chakotay, who, joined by the captain, grinned at the sight of the family.  "Congratulations, you three." 

Janeway smiled.  "I don't recall giving you permission to bring guests back from the nebula," she teased.  "But I think he'll make welcome addition to Voyager."  She drew closer to give the tiny boy a better look. 

Like Alaine, his hair--though but a curl or two--certainly came from his mother's side, as did his gently arching brow ridges, which were about as prominent as his sister's had been at birth.  But the face looked longer, the mouth smaller.  Like Alaine, he was a toss up of both his parents and in great health considering what Harry had said about the trauma of his arrival. 

"He's beautiful," she said with a wide smile.  "Have you thought of a name, yet?" 

B'Elanna snickered, nestling herself in the pillow and her husband's shoulder.  "Tom had plenty of time to think one up this time." 

Tom gave her a peck on the forehead and grinned at the captain.  "His name is Kiarn Paris.  Kiarn is for B'Elanna's cousin, K'Karn."  He reached up and gently tickled Alaine's rosy cheek.  "That's your brother's name:  Kiarn.  What do you think about that?" 

The little girl looked in turns at both her parents.  Then, regarding the infant again, she leaned down and gave the tiny boy a little kiss.  "I like Kirn..."   


**51450:  Three weeks later**

"We were fools.  Yes, fools to have borne children so unlike us."  Miral's eyes found a place beyond the viewscreen, uncharacteristically distant for a Klingon.  "My nephew is a wiser man than I once thought.  When I had learned she may have been gone forever, dead without honor, K'Karn found me and told me of her, made me see with open eyes that her honor was in tact."  Her stare found the man in the screen again. 

"It was not for the lessons I gave, but what she gave herself.  I tried to make her see wisdom, but she never listened.  I tried to keep her from your academy.  I knew she would not stay there.  She left in spite of me, walked on her own path.  Thus, she is no longer mine, as for the same reasons your son is no longer yours." 

"Perhaps you feel that way, because of your sense of honor, but that's not enough for me." 

Miral eyed the gray and sallow Starfleet admiral.  His arrogant self-assuredness was more than evident even across subspace.  But only one word crossed her:  "Why?" 

The admiral did not break his gaze.  "I don't believe that he's no longer my son." 

"You should.  Perhaps then you would accept his truer heart." 

"Accept him?  But you said--"

"I repeat, again, B'Elanna was no longer mine," Miral said, her voice dripping with insolence.  "She chose her own path.  When I learned what she had made of it, what my nephew told me, what her letter told me, what your missing ship informed me, I came to see her choice as acceptable, a good balance.  I cannot deny her achievements.  As my daughter, she dissatisfied me greatly.  But as a woman, I can admire her."  Miral found his slightly wandering eyes an interesting reaction.  "Tell me," she said bluntly, "why can you not come to such amends?" 

"I have been trying." 

"And you continue to fail, considering your approach." 

"I have tried to know more about him." 

"But you already know everything."  She grinned with the wisdom she knew was all too true.  "You are only too much a coward to see it." 

A muscle in the admiral's wrinkled neck visibly flexed and his eyes hardened.  "I don't have to listen to this.  My son turned his back on his family, on Starfleet, on the Federation, on everything I believed in." 

"Then why do you contact me to inform me of his mate?"  She held up her hand to his reply.  "Do not answer me.  Answer yourself.  I know the answer I give myself.  But I will not tell you, either.  It is not worth my time."  Much to her pleasure, he did not speak, even if his façade had reddened.  "You unwittingly have contacted me to try to find your own heart.  I am complimented by a fool today.  So all I will give you, Admiral, is that question.  Nothing more." 

Miral was pleased yet more by the man's good sense when he cut the connection without another useless word, only a short nod as he reached for the control panel. 

Once alone again, she turned her console down to continue her briefly disturbed work.  Her fingers snatched up the geoscanner and the PADD she had been entering her data into only a moment later; she nodded to herself to see she had not missed any of the reactions she had been trying to cultivate.  Despite her desire to continue, however, and as she reset another parameter, her eyes drifted to the rare piece of sentiment in her home, a piece she had proudly defended, having placed it in plain sight to all who entered her house. 

If they asked about it, she always held her head a little higher when she told them, "Yes, their eyes show the fire within them.  They are not Klingon, but their blood burns with duty and honor.  They are mates, my daughter and son in-law, and proud warriors of Avalar...."   


**51475:  One week later**

Tom's eyes opened with a shot, and a silent gasp was his first full breath of the morning.  But seeing the familiar ceiling, feeling the warmth beside him, he immediately relaxed, closing his eyes for a moment to completely divest himself of the dream. 

He leaned his head over a little to kiss B'Elanna's head.  She was cuddled up against him, her arm around his chest, her head nestled in the curve of his neck.  She stirred when he exhaled and drew his fingers across her hair. 

"Shhh," he breathed, pulling the blanket back up on her shoulder. 

She had woken a little, however..  "What time is it?"  she murmured.  "Is it time for Neelix's breakfast yet?" 

"It's still early, B'Elanna, and the baby's not even up yet," he whispered.  "Go back to sleep." 

Her eyelids closed and opened slowly.  "Are you okay, Tom?" 

He grinned.  "I'm fine, Mommy," he told her, very softly.  "Go back to sleep." 

She did not fight that, though she growled lightly at his jibe, her fingers flexing a little into his chest.  At the same time, though, she cozied up closer to his warm body, then sighed deeply.  A moment later, she was completely asleep again. 

Tom stroked her hair again, tracing a lock over the back of her shoulder.  He looked down, watched her face as she slept.  She was so still, aside from the occasional twitch or reach of her hand.

He glanced across to Kiarn's crib, where their son lay in equal repose to his mother.  Tom smiled at the look of his fluffy brown hair and tiny fist, bent up aside his head.  His little pout was also like B'Elanna's, especially then, so relaxed in his sleep. 

From there, Tom's eyes drifted over to the pictures on the wall by the door.  Pictures of the family, their family, hung in no particular order:  Tom and B'Elanna at the holo-Sandrine's a month before Alaine was born; another of the family taken just after her birth; K'Karn walking through a courtyard at Oslon; Alaine running in the party dress Jenna made; the three of them at the holo-resort; the four of them in sickbay when they first brought Kiarn home to Voyager; Tom and B'Elanna on Avalar; Tom's mother working amongst her flowers; Alaine peeking over Kiarn's bassinet, taken only two days before. 

There were some pictures of their friends:  Of Harry and Kes at the latter's second birthday party; Jenna and Chakotay and Neelix laughing over some joke nobody remembered; Tuvok taking a shot at the pool table with Chakotay and Kathryn looking on with the expectation of waiting; Neelix and Kes talking over a bowl of greens; Kathryn holding Alaine on her lap while Alaine, still an infant, reached up to grab the captain's nose. 

A smile grew on Tom's face even as he sighed.  The memory had faded.  Settling himself back into the pillow, his cheek pressed against B'Elanna's hair, he soon fell back to sleep.   
-

Admiral Nechayev had gotten out of the meeting early and found herself outside soon after, breathing the moist, cool air.  It did a pretty good job of cleansing her of the muck she had left, the dampened noises, the mist on her heated skin.  The trouble with the Dominion and the Founders clearly were making her former woes with the Maquis look like a trifle, and matters were going from bad to worse.  The conferences over the last month were beginning to drain her, for good reason. 

Yet at the same time, she found herself continuing to needle Owen Paris.  _ Why do I bother?_ she wondered, staring up at the gray sky.  _ Do I really need this diversion?  It's obvious he won't budge._

Without wanting to, she remembered the last time she saw Alaine.  Alaine had contacted Alynna to tell her about the fight, her destruction of the hall and forcing Owen out of the house.  She seemed relieved to have all the neutrality over with, to feel free again after too many years of being and doing what she really hadn't wanted and keeping the peace.  "If I'd had any sense then, I would have let it all go to hell a long time ago and let the pieces fall where they may.  But I suppose we can't be wise before the fact."  She ended their conversation by explaining what gardening she would be doing that day.  She wanted to pull the white roses, the ones Owen didn't like, up to the front of the garden, then plant some more sea grass around the fence.

She was proud of her rebellion--vengeful for her child.  Alaine was so like she had been when they were schoolgirls together, Alynna thought, with her giddy laugh and sharp blue eyes, while she happily chatted about boys and fashions instead of thinking about her classes.  Then again, Alaine had always been one of those sorts who somehow didn't need to study.  It had annoyed Alynna to no end at the time, having studied into the late hours while her friend was on a date; Alaine would breeze into class, sit down, glance through her random notes before the test, and take home full marks.  She didn't even think much about that, either, but shrugged and hopped over to tell Alynna about the party coming up that weekend.

Another wave of fog drew in off the bay, pouring mist over the spotless, manicured lawn and shaped bushes like icing on a cake.  How strange that Alaine had ended up in the situation she had. 

It was through Alynna that she had met Lieutenant Owen Paris, whose family had long been friends with her own.  Handsome with that dark hair and hazel blue eyes, the willing heir to a long, proud history--regal almost, the way he held himself, like a prince--he had stayed behind after a seminar to catch up with Cadet Nechayev when Alaine hurried in to meet her for lunch and boldly took Alynna away.  But Alynna hadn't mistaken how his eyes had followed her friend as they left.  Meeting her a few more times during his leave, that prince proceeded steal flighty, flirty Alaine Marin's heart.  In less than two years, they were married; two years after that, Kathleen was born.  A couple years later, Moira arrived, and Tom not four years after that.  Alaine could not have seemed happier, more fulfilled until later, until Tom started to grow and Owen grew increasingly set in his ways and then was stationed on Earth.  She plugged through life seemingly unbothered by her husband's doings, her head always high, always busy with her children, her hundred hobbies or her instructing, always chatting with Alynna about her garden, or the new color scheme she'd come up with whenever they could contact each other.  Then Tom got in trouble, and all sorts of demons came out of the closet.

Or maybe it wasn't so strange after all, considering.

Alynna sighed to think that Alaine had finished that last job they'd talked about, even removing the roses from their pots and planting them in the ground.  But she died not long after, was killed when the old anti-grav shelf with her gauging tools and several containers of bacillus malfunctioned and fell unceremoniously on her, breaking her neck.  Her neighbor found her there, seemingly asleep beside the mess, but cold with death. 

_A stupid, useless, preventable death.  Too soon._

Alynna couldn't even make it to the funeral.  By the time she paid her respects, Tom was long gone. 

Tears cropped up in the admiral's eyes, but she forced them down with much skill.  It was a long time ago, she knew, and she couldn't afford to dwell on the past, on that past.  She was making up as best she could for hunting Alaine's son, for doing her job.  As an officer, as a Fleet Admiral, it had been her guilty duty to pursue with a vengeance her best friend's beloved child.  But that was over now, Tom was away and making his life with his own family, and the Maquis was no more.  She no longer had to think of Tom as the enemy. 

As if her loyalties had never been challenged, she'd felt a need to help Alaine in what ways she could, particularly while she was still on Earth.  Thus, Alynna diverted herself for Tom's sake and Alaine's memory and would continue to.

It was the least she could do. 

Alynna breathed the wet air once more, blinked some mist away from her eyelashes.  Pulling her coat collar close around her neck, she began to move across the nearly obscured mall to the office building.  She still had four appointments that afternoon.   
-

"I can't decide who's prouder:  The mother, the father, or the sister," Captain Janeway commented above the chatter of the room and the whisk behind her.  Without meaning to, little Alaine was stealing the show, telling Jenna in no uncertain terms how to hold the baby.  Jenna played along, of course, sharing amused looks with Tom and B'Elanna as their friends and crew mates gathered and congratulated, then made room for others. 

Neelix cheerfully continued stirring up breakfast--omelets and tomatoes with no special anything, per Tom's orders--as he glanced to the family in question.  "I'd say that's a good question, Captain," he said.  "They were all anxious to get their little addition." 

Janeway grinned.  "It's too bad Kiarn wasn't born when we got our messages through." 

Neelix shrugged, his good mood unspoiled by the thought.  "Well, with any luck, Captain, we'll get to send some more if Seven can configure another relay." 

She nodded, grateful, as always, for the man's optimism.  Yet as she watched the young family introduce their son to their friends, the same thought tugged at her.  She felt close to them, saw them not as younger siblings or children--as she did in a way with much of the crew--but more like a niece and nephew or, better, neighbors, for the Parises maintained a certain distance, a decided independence.  For what precise reason, Janeway felt she could guess with some accuracy. 

Though invaluable members of her crew, their duties came after their family without excuse or question.  To that purpose, both had become expert teachers--he of pilots and medics, she of engineers and expert ship's technicians--so that they could delegate their duties when necessary.  Chakotay told the captain how they had done the same in the Maquis when they were planning to leave. 

Of all the crew, they had remained the most true to their old ideals.  Janeway still grinned to remember when Tuvok informed B'Elanna that her wedding ring was not a permissible accessory to Starfleet uniforMs. The young woman hurled her communicator, insignia and several Klingon curses at him while her husband gave the security chief a chilling glare Janeway would never forget.  Well, at least she could grin about it in retrospect.  To that day, the two, though eminently respectful, shirked no less from their opinions. 

In essence, they were still that couple from Avalar, the young colonists in the portrait.  She had come to accept that, even like that about them.  They had become good friends to her when such closeness and confidence was a difficult thing for her to come by. 

Knowing this, Janeway couldn't help but wonder still if his father had forgiven Tom.  She hadn't even given it much thought until she met the Parises at their quarters that morning.  While waiting for Tom to get Alaine dressed and as Kiarn nursed, B'Elanna mentioned how she and Tom had wondered about their families, hoped that they would at least see the good they had done with themselves, with each other and the children.  Kathryn told her she was sure they would.  It was hard not to say that, looking at them then, in their home with their babies, stuffed animals sitting on the couch and floor, juice and coffee at the dining table, Alaine in the next room insisting to her father she wanted to wear her "baa-boo dress" and pink slippers.  Then, Janeway began to think about it.  Would their parents see what she did? 

She couldn't predict B'Elanna's mother, she being Klingon and Klingons being so strange and particular in their assessments.  She could, like B'Elanna, only hope.  However, she did know Admiral Paris, and calling up her memories of him, she tried hard to convince herself that he had forgiven Tom by then.  She had her doubts, though.  She had come to admire Tom Paris immensely.  She trusted his skills at the conn whenever she called him there, respected his judgment.  True, he was irrepressible and passionate, unafraid to debate anyone, especially herself and Tuvok.  But he was a good man she had come to depend on and wouldn't be there without.  Would her logs convince the Admiral of that?  She didn't know. 

"You look a few parsecs off the port." 

She snapped back as soon as she heard Chakotay's voice, and she smiled at his observation.  "I was thinking about Admiral Paris," she confessed. 

"Admiral Paris?" 

"I'm wondering how he's reacting to the news." 

Chakotay looked over at Tom, who held B'Elanna in his arm.  They both smiled as Tuvok placed a Vulcan blessing on the baby, as he had with Alaine after she was born.  The first officer then returned his gaze to the captain, whose expression was almost unreadable.  "I wouldn't worry about it," he finally said.  "Tom might be interested in knowing what his father thinks, but it's not a priority in his life.  He has his own family to be concerned about." 

Janeway nodded, but became more disturbed as she did.  "It's more than that, Chakotay." 

He stared down at her.  "What, then, Kathryn?" 

She allowed herself a sigh and another confession.  "If Admiral Paris doesn't forgive his son after all this time, after everything Tom's been through and done, I don't think I could respect him.  He was my mentor, my first captain; I looked up to him like a father when I was missing my own."  She looked up to him with regretful grin.  "It's hard to learn that your paragon isn't everything you thought and expected." 

Chakotay nodded.  "I'd feel the same.  But you don't have to give up on your mentor because he doesn't meet your expectations.  All you have to learn is that he's human, that he can make mistakes, too." 

Again, she sighed.  "I'd have preferred to keep him unblemished," she said with a pat on his arm, moving away to approach the Parises in her own turn.   


**51498:  One week later**

"P'tahk!" 

Nechayev blinked, suddenly alert to the door before her.  Having come to pay her old friend a friendly visit, the familiar Klingon epitaph stopped her in her tracks.  Then, a large, heavily decorated Klingon appeared as he stormed out of the office and into the lobby, his face contorted with rage, his eyes like cauldrons. 

"He is a fool," he growled, stalking around and past Alynna.  "He sees nothing, _hears_ nothing.  He is no good among the living.  How he has attained such prestige is incomprehensible!" 

The admiral watched him stomp out of the lobby, the sweep of his robe counterpoint to his step as he swung around the corner.  She sighed, hoping that her planned conversation hadn't been dashed.  Then again, it _was_ Admiral Paris she was thinking about.  He was always at least _seemingly_ impervious.  So, she returned to her former path and pressed the door alert.  When she got no answer, she pressed it again.  It opened. 

Admiral Paris was at work, or seemed to be with his PADD and a monitor busily collecting and compiling data.  He offered a smile--though weak--when he looked up and saw her.  "Alynna, what a surprise.  You usually call before coming." 

She moved to a chair and took it.  "I saw Ambassador GIthlor on his way out," she commented.  "He looked pretty upset.  Did you cook his blood worms?" 

"Another satisfied client," Owen replied, briefly sharing her cynical grin.  "That Tom married a Klingon is beyond me."  He shook his head, collecting his PADDs to review that night.  "I was lead to believe he didn't have a taste for overbearing sorts." 

"His wife is only half-Klingon," Alynna corrected.  "And in fact, I met her at a seminar at the Academy when she was there.  I found her to be a nice young lady.  Excitable, a little uptight, but intelligent and polite, at least to me.  But she was young, then." 

"Yes," Owen said, perusing another PADD, "read all about her.  So to what do I owe the honor of this visit?" 

Alynna nodded, seeing that he had already evaded the entire meeting with GIthlor and anything having to do with Tom as well.  Not that she expected anything less.  "I came by, Owen," she said, trying to be as casual as he seemed to be, "to invite you to the Academy grounds for a picnic tomorrow.  I know you've been busy, so you might not have heard about it." 

Owen raised his brow.  "I might be a workaholic, but I'm not immune to Academy news." 

"Will you come, then?"  Alynna asked, as nicely as she could.  "I've been hard on you lately.  Let me make up for that."  She retained her most charming smile, one he would remember from years past, one she wore knowing she was playing a ruse on a man who she indeed pitied, but still wanted that damn letter from.  "Everybody will be there, wondering where you are." 

Owen laughed.  "Oh, they will, will they?  You really are a conniving--"

"--Admiral," she interjected with a clever grin, "just like you." 

He finally relented with a nod.  "Very well," he said, his smile twisting slightly.  "After all, it's not often that I get a full yard of cadets to scare the hell out of." 

"Well, your reputation is well-earned," Alynna said, "and don't try to tell me you don't enjoy it.  You've always had a knack for it." 

His grin flickered, though in the end the smile won as he glanced at Alynna's perfectly neutral expression.  "I suppose I do enjoy making them a little nervous," he admitted and accessed his daily planner.   
-

"Do you want to go back?" 

"If you do." 

"That's not an answer.  Now tell m--"

"I know--I know!  We're only a deck away.  But what if--"

"God, what's wrong with us?" 

"We're parents, that's what's wrong." 

"Alaine was the same age when Jenna kicked us out the first time." 

"I think we had this conversation too." 

"Okay, then, we'll just stay here.  Everything's fine.  Right?" 

"Right.  What if something happens?" 

"We'll be contacted." 

"What if the COMM--"

"God, B'Elanna!"  Tom moaned.  "You know, we're wasting time just arguing about this."  He looked down to her as she acknowledged him with a quick nod.  At the same time, her lips pressed together and her arms crossed.  "B'Elanna, I won't mind if we go back.  Frankly, I was a little uncomfortable leaving this soon, too." 

"I know," she said. 

"How long did it take us to go?" 

"As long as it took Jenna to get fed up with us." 

He grinned.  "And if we go back now, she'll kill us." 

B'Elanna snorted at the thought, then sighed.  "We do need to get away, I guess."  Staring up into her husband's searching expression, B'Elanna shrugged.  "It's only a couple hours." 

Tom gave a nod.  "Right.  The kids are asleep.  Kiarn will hardly miss us and Alaine won't even know we'd gone anywhere." 

It took another few seconds for them both to nod at that, but less time to become amused with themselves:  The serious looks on each other's faces made them both laugh.  Shaking his head, Tom embraced his wife, kissed the side of her head. 

"We're rotten and we know it." 

"We should be committed," she agreed. 

"To a nursery," he added as they continued to walk through their yard.  They did not head toward the front door, however.  Instead, they headed to the path behind. 

"When did we get so domesticated?"  B'Elanna wondered as she grabbed Tom's offered hand on the sandstone incline. 

"What do you mean when?"  Tom replied.  "We've always been domesticated.  We practically lived on the Marseilles, then on Avalar, now here." 

"I guess you're right." 

He guided her around a steep turn in the path, then moved to her side again once it straightened again.  "I wouldn't call it domesticated, though.  I'd call it normal.  We're not fighting a war anymore, we have children who keep us busy..." 

"We have a regular positions and duties."  They had reached the top of the hill when B'Elanna stopped and looked up to him.  "We're older and more settled than we were," she stated.  "We've changed, settled down." 

Tom chuckled and took her around the waist.  "We're boring as hell as you know it," he said and pinched her.  B'Elanna squeaked and grabbed his hand. 

"I might be boring but I can still give you something to shake about Tom Par-IS!"  His firm smack on her behind made her jump and swing around.  Her eyes narrowed to find him again.  "You're asking for it if you try that again, hotshot." 

Tom nodded to himself.  "That's better."  He turned an eye down to her, grinning at her agitation.  He hadn't seen her that riled in a while.  "The best way to keep things lively is to get in trouble." 

"Trouble with me isn't something you should hope for," she returned. 

"You never heard me complain about my punishments." 

B'Elanna drew a slow breath, smiling evilly but saying nothing.  She knew nothing could abate him then, only make him jauntier.  She likewise knew if she continued it, they'd spend the whole evening going back and forth--and there were other things on her mind for that evening.  So, she continued walking, holding back her hand for him to reclaim it.  He did. 

Around a small corridor of rock sat the pool of water, shimmering with the triple moons far above it.  They had finally perfected the lake during their time on Voyager, having tinkered with it on and off every time they used it.  Somehow a current wasn't right, or the temperature varied too much.  Of all the programs they had created, Avalar was the one they wanted to be perfect.  They'd made it originally for Alaine.  They still called Avalar her homeworld, and already planned for Kiarn to know it well before he ever saw the real thing.  They still called it their home. 

Sitting on the bank of the lake, they removed their shoes.  Then, looking at each other, they slipped their feet into the deliciously warm water.  Both sighed.  "Ahh, heaven," Tom breathed. 

"Incredible," B'Elanna agreed and began to untie her dress.  "Last one in's a stinking targ," she teased and slid off her clothes.  Slipping off the bank of the lake and into the water, she turned a grin upon her husband, who had more to remove and was doing so quickly.  Her mouth opened. 

But he quickly said, "Don't even say it." 

"Did I say anything?"  B'Elanna giggled and pushed herself away from the bank, setting herself to sail in the currents.  "We did do a great job on this." 

Tom quickly caught up with her, gliding quickly to her side.  "It took a while, but I'm glad we kept at it."  With that he went under and guppied back up again, shaking the water from his hair.  B'Elanna held a hand up against the spray.  "Perfect," he said and collected her into his embrace.  "Come on, time to go under, finish off your hair."  He laughed.  "Good thing you can't see it now." 

"You should talk," B'Elanna returned.  "You're the stinking targ--not me."  She squirmed out of his arms to submerge herself on her own.  But when she came up again, she caught a wave of water in her face.  She shrieked and splashed back at him only to catch another assault.  She was the better swimmer, but he was far more experienced at water games.  Still, she battled back, kicking herself towards him and deftly meeting his veering attacks, keeping track only by the sound of his wicked laughter. 

She managed a couple good buckets on him, but was laughing so hard and striking so quickly that she hadn't noticed that he had been maneuvering himself closer.  When he lunged and slipped his arms around her and pressed his mouth to hers, the shock of diversion sent a warm jolt through her body.  As suddenly as he had kissed her, she slid her arms around his shoulders and responded in kind, letting him guide them back towards the shore.  As their kisses deepened, both sighed in relief and anticipation.  They knew well they hadn't gone to the holodeck for the swimming, after all. 

Even so, B'Elanna couldn't resist commenting as they briefly broke apart, "Thank God.  I thought you'd forgotten."

"If I were dead, I might have," he replied, bending slightly to nibble her sweet neck.

"Or if you'd...ahh...rather see who wins the water tossing contest?"

He nuzzled his way back up to her lips.  "We'll be tossing enough water around soon enough," he whispered with a little grin and a caress between her thighs.   
-

He collected his PADDs, as he always did at the end of the day and said good night to Klenman at the end of the corridor, where she turned the other way to leave.  He gave nods or salutations or shared a few words with people along his route down the old avenue.  It had long been his choice to walk home, rather than transport, even in bad weather.  It was an hour and a bit he made up for in sitting behind a desk for much of the day. 

It didn't use to be an oceanside road until a century ago, when four blocks and a highway sat between the row of antique houses and restaurants that now looked over the sea.  Earthquakes and the rising Pacific Ocean had seen to the revised coastline.  Geo-stabilizers and environmental correction saved the structures that existed that day, including the Paris house, left to Owen by his great-uncle a year before he married Alaine.  Now, a healthy beach dominated the view from the avenue between the houses and restaurants, glowing in the warm sunset.  The sound of the water was mere white noise off to the side. 

He interrupted his trip to stop in at a cafe in the middle of the way.  There, he would sit a while to the side of the busy street and watch the people go about their way or mill around at random, finishing off their work, starting out for the evening.  Sometimes, he would be greeted, sometime joined.  Since his wife's death, he'd made the brief pause a habit.  If he felt particularly unoccupied, as he did that day, he'd start the work he had always brought home with him and stayed through dinner.  He made sure never to finish his work there, though. 

"You're looking a bit tired tonight, Admiral," said the waitress as she refilled his cup.  The admiral always had one refill.  "Lot of meetings today?" 

"A few," he answered without looking up from his PADD. 

She smiled at him, brows raising curiously, as they always did when she'd move not so gracefully to the next topic.  "Any rumors I should know about?" 

"Not today, Pauline.  Been slow lately." 

She looked at him another moment.  He never gave her information--nor did she ask, as it was more a game than a practice to wheedle in his business.  For that matter, the gossip she had came from much more open sources.  But at least most of the time the man did have the grace to play along.  Considering it again, she took a seat next to him, set the coffee pot on the table.  "Admiral, is something wrong?  You really look tired." 

"Nothing.  Just a tiring day." 

"It is because of Voyager?" 

Owen's eyes pulled up, but his words were unaffected.  "It's good to hear from them, but that'd be far from tiring." 

"Even if your son's on board?"  she asked and laughed when his face lit with surprise.  "Do you think I didn't know he was there?  I knew about your family well before we ever met--and we've been talking for years."

"Well, no, it's not confidential, for the most part."

"I always thought it strange, though, that you never mentioned him."  He stiffened; Pauline sighed.  "Forgive me if I seem like I'm prying, but I know things between you and your son must have been tense.  Still, that really should be in the past, considering." 

Owen smiled graciously with effort.  "Pauline, aside from the fact that this doesn't concern you, I don't think you understand the implications involved." 

Her returning grin was equally generous.  "Oh?  He was a high ranking member of the Maquis, I heard.  That alone isn't much for you to brag about."  Realizing she'd said more than she'd meant to at first, she apologized with a shrug.  "But I suppose since you're an admiral from a long line of admirals, it must have been a great embarrassment on your part." 

He stiffened.  "It is." 

Pauline touched his arm.  "He's sixty years away from all of that, now.  The Maquis is gone, no more.  They're all caught or killed, and thankfully, your son wasn't among the poor souls who caught the worst of it.  I guess that was my point--that you were probably relieved to know for certain he's alive.  In spite of the fact that he'd sided with the good fight, it should have been a lot of weight off your shoulders." 

"Are you a sympathizer?"  Owen asked, surprised at her description of the conflict.

Pauline smiled sadly, shaking her head.  "Oh, Admiral, I think everybody sympathizes with the Maquis, or at least with those colonists.  If somebody tried to take my home away from me, I think I'd fight, too.  Having everything that's important and dear to you ripped away because of other people's plans, well, I'd think that'd make me feel so useless and helpless that I'd want to take up phasers, if only to know I tried.  That doesn't mean that I agree with the violence in the Demilitarized Zone.  But I understand why it started, why they would want to fight.  You can't sit here and tell me the Cardassians haven't committed atrocities that Starfleet was powerless to prevent because of the treaty."  She patted his arm.  "Your son had been living out there for a while.  I wouldn't be surprised if he'd seen some things to upset him, as if he hadn't been unstable before." 

Owen eyed her, remembering Tom's initial letter.  Pauline had guessed well, but he'd be damned if he'd tell her so.  "Then how can you say it wasn't the previous incident that caused him to become what he did, hmm?" 

"He came from far too good a family for that, Owen," she replied.  "He had loving parents, a fine upbringing, every opportunity and a peaceful world to achieve on.  Now, there was trouble, but he did do right in the end, yes?  He cleared up his testimony, accepted his punishment, painful as it was to do so.  That's not the action of a man without conscience." 

"Perhaps.  But--"

"How can you say his conscience didn't stay with him after he joined the Maquis?  Do you think he joined only to spite you?" 

Owen's eyes flickered.  Turning away, he drew a breath.  "Sometimes.  Sometimes I wonder about that." 

"Now why would he want to risk his life, live so hard and give up everything just to make you suffer?"  She stood, fixing her stare on his firm profile.  "Not everything centers around you, Admiral, though I can see why you'd think that.  I really doubt your son was being cruel.  But you've been hurt, and sometimes when you're hurt, it's easier to pass the blame than see it for what it is." 

Owen looked up at her, emotionless as he examined her kind smile.  "And what do you suppose it is, Pauline?" 

"I think you're angry because, like those poor colonists out there, you had no control over what happened with your boy.  Powerlessness is a terrible feeling, Admiral, especially when you're not used to it."  She patted his arm again.  "I'll get the dinner menu for you.  Chad's got some new specials I think you'll like." 

As she turned away, his eyes turned down.  With a slow breath, he reached for his coffee, sipped it as he had before, then continued to read his reports.  That time, they barely registered.   
-

Their hair was still moist when they slipped into their quarters and stopped to look at Jenna, reclining on the couch with Kiarn sleeping against her breast.  Nanny and infant looked utterly at peace in their repose. 

Tom and B'Elanna gave each other a grin and moved silently to their bedroom.  Wrapping themselves warm within robes before crawling into bed, into each other's embrace, they kissed, nestled close, content.  Without thinking to, Tom threaded his fingers through her damp hair, which had stubbornly tightened into plaited curls upon leaving the water.  B'Elanna unconsciously circled her fingers against his skin beneath the collar of his robe. 

"I wonder what time Jenna got Kiarn down," she whispered. 

Tom gave that some thought.  "It couldn't have been too long ago.  He's still on the three-hour rotation." 

A pause.  "He'll probably be up earlier.  He didn't take much to the bottle the first time." 

"I don't blame him," Tom grinned, that growing into a quiet chuckle when he felt her smile.  "But Jenna has her way with children.  He probably had enough to carry him over." 

"She is good at it," B'Elanna agreed.  Her smile faded.  "I feel sorry for her sometimes."  She shook her head.  "Jenna doesn't say anything, but I know she can't be happy." 

Tom sighed, shrugged.  "Yeah.  It's probably why we let her baby-sit whenever she decides we need some time together." 

B'Elanna watched her fingers as they moved the cloth of her husband's robe, comfortable but for where her mind was going back to.  In the silence that filled their room, she started thinking. 

Tom glanced down to her.  "What is it?" 

She'd expected him to notice.  "Do you really think we're boring?" 

"In comparison to what we were doing, maybe.  But I'm not bored, if that's what you're asking.  Are you?" 

"No.  But everything is so different now," she breathed, as if just realizing it.  "This is what we were planning before, though, wasn't it?  In a way?  A normal life?" 

"I guess it is, in its way.  We're relatively safe, we have a family, friends, jobs.  It's just what we'd been working on when we fixed up the old house.  Except for being stuck out in the Delta Quadrant, for the most part, we got what we wanted." 

"Yes."  She smiled.  "I'll always miss Avalar, but I'm glad we've managed to make something here." 

"Me too." 

"Even though things have calmed down so much?"  she asked. 

"Maybe even for that reason," he said.  "Maybe we really did get the fighting out our systems and this was just what was supposed to come next.  Sure, sometimes I think I'd like to get into a little mischief again--especially when things get slow at work.  But we have more here than we'd expected to ever get.  I'd never regret a moment for all we've got now." 

"Neither would I.  But sometimes, I can't help but think we need a little diversion, especially when we start arguing over something we agree on." 

Tom snorted.  "We were spoiling for a fight, all right.  What was it about again?" 

She shook her head a little.  "I don't remember.  Maybe we need more challenges, to keep us going." 

He eyed her, crooking his head to peer down until she looked up.  "B'Elanna, you're chief engineer of a Federation starship, a bridge officer, the mother of two and the wife of a pain in the ass pilot--and you want more challenges?" 

She laughed lightly and snuggled back down on his chest.  "I guess you have a point.  Maybe different is the word I'm looking for.  Maybe you were right before, that we should shake things up a little.  It's so easy to get caught up in routine." 

"Well, in that case, I wouldn't worry about it." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah, because as soon as we get too comfortable, you know something'll come around to change it all again, just like when we ended up here, just like that first day, when I saw you on Tinalat."  He drifted his fingers down her spine.  "Besides, you know if we do get too anxious, we'll find our own way to throw a stick in the spoke.  We always have before." 

"That does sound like us," B'Elanna returned and pulled herself up to face him, toying with the lapels of his robe.  "I guess we'll just keep taking it as it comes, then?" 

Still grinning, he placed his hands on the small of her back, pressing her in to him.  "I can live with that," he whispered suggestively. 

She ran her hands under the robe and over his shoulders, purring as he kneaded her waist with his strong, tender fingers.  "So," she whispered, sliding her leg over his hips, "how long do you think we've got now?" 

He brushed his lips over her waiting mouth, rubbed his nose against hers to nudge another kiss as she moved herself completely over him.  "Long enough, I hope," he murmured with a little grin, pulling away the sash of her robe.   
-

His eyes opened, but he did not move.  Feeling the restraints, feeling the pain, like slivers of ice down his spine, ricocheting around his midsection.  But he couldn't move, couldn't ease it.  It nagged him after the pain subsided.

But the worst of it, the thing that stuck with him the most, that terror he had never known possible was the powerlessness.  Not knowing and not being able to do a thing about it.  They could easily have been unwise and killed him.  It was war, after all, and he was a trophy.  They could have strung out the sessions for years if they'd wanted to, kept him alive and driven him to madness if they chose to--and he knew, without any doubt, that he could not have done anything about it.

They were in complete control.

That was terror.  He finally knew was it was when he realized that and felt the cold slicing in his muscles, heard their trained composure fill his ears.

But that was long ago--two decades ago--and he'd overcome that.  He had been released and had lived well beyond that, knowing that he'd won the fight in the end.  He made himself know that he had won that fight.

He lay in his bed, under his sheets.  The room was his.  The furnishings, the windows, the lamps on the tables...

Owen still could not move, feeling the restraints that kept him from moving any part of his limbs or midsection.  They left his head free to thrash, though. 

He had tried to be neutral, not give in.  The pain, actually, was more draining--distracting--as it was designed to be.  The restraints, unable to move, twist with pain each time they administered it, so calmly, unable to look away, unable.  Powerless. 

Owen lay motionless for many minutes, staring at the wall, seeing the ceiling of the cell they'd held him in.  Motionless.  They did not acknowledge his pain.  Asked with all politeness what they wanted to know.  He told them nothing.  Then another jolt was administered and they watched, impassive.  He could do nothing but let it happen. 

He had screamed, squeezing shut his eyes as he forgot that it was what they'd wanted to elicit from him.  He didn't care.  He just wanted to be able to arch his back--just a little--to make it stop.  He wanted then to stop talking, strolling around him, so pleasantly.  He had screamed to silence them--to stop hearing them, to know he could do that. 

Eventually, he had cried. 

He had given in. 

Alaine never knew the details of his experience.  He never told her.  He did not want to relive it, particularly to her.  She'd asked, tried to help.  He evaded her.  She would have wanted to talk about it.

Owen told himself to relax, that he needed to sleep, that he could clear his mind if he only tried.  Mind over matter; think it into being.  Glancing at the chronometer, he calculated only five hours until he would need to wake.  He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, willing himself to a mental picture to replace the memory--forcing it there, the ocean, its rushes a constant hum in the house.  He envisioned the waves on a dusky shore, rising, pausing, ebbing...

The frothy waves ebbed, revealing his son, strapped to a table in the sand.

Owen's eyes shot open.

He moved his legs off the bed and sat up, drawing a breath to quash the crush in his chest.  He went to the sink and washed his face.  Minutes later, he was in his den, reviewing the reports he'd barely read earlier. 

It was a good enough time to do it as any.  He was wide awake.   


**51499:  The next day**

"Good morning!"  B'Elanna sang as she entered engineering, the skirt of her tunic adrift in her stride, cradling Kiarn securely at her side. 

Lieutenant Carey grinned at the lady, all of swinging hair and a bright smile his way before she sauntered over to the console in question.  Kiarn didn't seem to mind her gate, but hung loosely in the hammock of her arm, kicking a little, then stopping to gape in a sort of wonder when his mother mischievously snagged his bootie in her fingers and tickled his foot.  Then his eyes found the lights in the big blue room.  Consequently, he hardly noticed when B'Elanna released his foot to tap on the panel, still grinning to herself. 

"Well, Lieutenant, you seem awfully chipper this morning," Carey said, insinuating good-naturedly the exact cause of her good mood.  It was, after all, common knowledge that the Parises had holodeck time the night before.  "It's good to see you back to your usual perkiness." 

She ran her fingers over the diagnostic panel and her eyes over the displays.  "My perkiness or the former lack thereof is none of your business," she replied, then turned an equally suggestive smile his way. 

Carey stifled a chuckle and jumped back to business.  "I'm sorry to have called you down, but we couldn't stabilize the flow regulators.  We think the particles we collected might be contaminated." 

B'Elanna nodded quickly.  "We can clean it up.  Tom and I had to do this on the Marseilles when we first got it.  Barolian and Cardassian technology isn't exactly compatible, and we came by a lot of Cardassian parts.  It looks like this region's verteron particles and Starfleet plasma conduits don't like each other, either."  Her grin turned a bit inward as her fingers flew over the panel with well-practiced accuracy.  "It's just a matter of translation, Joe, nothing more..."   
-

Alynna took one took at Owen in the door and lowered her chin to regard him.  "Owen, you look like hell," she stated. 

"Didn't sleep much last night," he told her.  "Just a touch of insomnia."  Stepping back, he gestured with a small sweep of his hand.  "Please, come in.  I'm just finishing." 

She walked in a couple steps, and then a few steps further with a little more hesitation.  "Thanks."

She had only visited the house a couple times since Alaine's death, for reasons she wasn't too proud to admit to herself.  Though nothing had been moved around, it was completely different.  It was still strange to not see Alaine there to greet her, as she always did, with a quick, warm hug and a kiss on the cheek as she laughed and thanked her so much for coming.  No matter what they were doing, she always offered coffee, to sit and chat before heading out to a seminar or to the gymnasium, or the nursery for some new cuttings--or even to remain there, in the yard, on the beach. 

But none of that warmth was there anymore.  The house used to smell of wood oil and the roses she faithfully cut every other morning and placed in vases around the house.  There was no music, no scurrying about.  Even the sun came into the windows differently.  Without Alaine, the house's emptiness was palpable, even those five years later. 

Alynna took a quick breath, keeping her eyes on Owen.  "Are you're sure you're up for today?" 

"Just some bad sleep," he repeated as he slid his tunic on.  "Nothing more.  I'll survive.  Like some coffee?" 

"Why don't we get that on the way?  Maybe the air will do you good." 

He looked at her, adjusting his collar.  She was still at the foot of the entry and looked unnerved.  "Perhaps it will.  Let's go, then." 

Alynna gladly turned and led the way back out.   
-

Alaine ran a random pattern around the corridor as she and her father headed towards engineering.  Knowing the route well, she was not afraid to veer quickly into an adjoining hall and hide.  She did this several times, jumping out to surprise her father, who would laugh and lunge forward to try to scoop her up.  Before he could, she darted away, giggling infectiously as she tried to find another place to hide. 

On her last stealth maneuver--for even Alaine got tired after a while--her father did not come.  She waited another moment.  She couldn't even hear him.  Not liking the wait, she scowled and peeked around the corner. 

"Gotcha!"  Tom announced, scooping up his little girl, who laughed wildly as he got her in both of his arms and hung her upside down by her legs before sweeping her back up and into his arm.  "What do you think of that, you little banshee?"  he teased. 

"Daddy's silly!"  Alaine laughed and threw her little arms around his neck. 

"Well, Alaine's a very good little hider.  But I'm glad you came out." 

"Me too." 

Tom kissed her forehead before noticing the captain coming from the other direction.  "Kathryn," he said in greeting.  "Are you off to engineering too?" 

"Yes," she said and patted Alaine's arm when she was close enough.  "Hello, Alaine." 

"Hi, Aunt Kat," giggled the girl, her round, blue eyes shining with mischief before she threw her curly head into her father's coat collar. 

Tom chuckled and took to Janeway's side as they continued.  "B'Elanna asked us to come and rescue her if they held her hostage for more than an hour." 

"Yes, I just heard they'd called her," said the captain, looking none too pleased about it, "when I left the holodeck.  I'm sorry about that." 

"Don't worry about it," Tom said, lightly but meaning it.  "Kiarn can still sleep anywhere at this point, and I needed to stop by sickbay.  So it's not that bad.  Besides, B'Elanna likes to know she hasn't neglected her bastard child." 

Janeway grinned at his wry truth.  "I can understand that.  But I wish they would have called me first.  I thought I had made it clear--"

"Kathryn," he cut in, a knowing stare hanging long above his crooked grin, "they had a choice between disturbing a half-Klingon engineer on maternity leave and interrupting their overworked captain taking some well-deserved R&amp;R in the holodeck.  Give them a little credit for making a very difficult decision." 

"Tom, I would've come if they had called." 

His expression was unchanged.  "That's the problem, and the reason why they decided on B'Elanna and not you." 

Janeway frowned.  "How do you mean?" 

"B'Elanna has other priorities and knows when to address them.  You, however, push yourself to exhaustion.  Even when you're relaxing, you're at work--and everybody knows that.  When they heard you were on the holodeck, they probably looked like Easter Island wondering how they'd get around that one.  So, they called B'Elanna and swore on bended knee that it wouldn't take long." 

"That's how it happened, did it?"  Janeway smiled. 

"Most likely," Tom said and shrugged.  "B'Elanna didn't really mind.  We got some time to ourselves and, consequently, some great sleep last night." 

"Yes, I heard you'd gotten in some holodeck time.  Where did you go?"  But suddenly she flushed, remembering what Jenna had brazenly told her before going off to baby-sit the night before.  "Of course, you don't have to tell me." 

Tom shrugged.  "We just did a little swimming on Avalar," he said.  "Nothing too unusual." 

Janeway was nodding, but his bright eyes and quirky grin said it all.  She cleared her throat and looked straight ahead.  "I'm glad you enjoyed yourselves." 

"We certainly did."  Turning into engineering, Tom gently set Alaine to her feet.  "Here we are, sweetheart," he told her and breezed ahead to grab Carey's arm.  "Okay, Carey," he said with mock ferocity, "you'll release my mate now or eat my bat'leth.  Choose now, coward." 

Carey laughed.  "I relinquish her to her rightful mate." 

"Good choice," Tom said, releasing him, and smiled as B'Elanna approached him.  "M'lady, I have come to challenge the dragon and rescue you from the tower." 

"My hero," she quipped dourly and gave him a kiss.  "What would I do without Sir Thomas of the Lake?"  He opened his mouth for his comeback, and she rose her brow warningly, glancing to the captain.  Understanding--"outside"--he held his tongue from further reply.  B'Elanna repositioned Kiarn in her arm, then held her other hand out to Alaine, who hurried up to grab it.  Looking to her husband again, she tried to be more serious.  She knew that look on him.  "Home, then, and get some lunch?" 

"At your command," he said softly, extending his hand to her waist with a short bow.  Only when near enough, he whispered into her ear.

B'Elanna laughed.  "In your _dreams_!" 

"I wasn't talking about sleep, Chief," he returned. 

She almost shot back again, but stopped short at the sight of her captain's amused grin.  Rolling her eyes, she gave the woman a nod as they passed.  "Kathryn." 

"B'Elanna," Janeway almost snorted, fighting to keep a straight face. 

"I cleaned up our verteron supply," she continued, deciding to stop and explain.  "Our initial conversions didn't--"

"B'Elanna, go home," Janeway cut in.  "I'm sure Mr. Carey can fill me in on this.  --You're on leave, Lieutenant.  I expect you to stay that way while you are.  I'll drop by later, if it's not..."  and there, she pressed her lips together in jest, "...inconvenient for you." 

B'Elanna nodded, then thought about that.  "Just call before you come." 

Janeway laughed, waving the two away.  "Take her home, Tom." 

When the doors to engineering closed behind them and Alaine pulled free to run ahead, B'Elanna's mouth pulled into a wicked smile.  "Just wait until I get my hands on you, Tom Paris." 

His laugh was equally evil.  "I anxiously await it, Miss Torres."   
-

"Sorry about that, sir!"  said the young cadet cheerfully as he jumped back from the collision around the trunk of an old boxwood tree.  "I didn't see you coming." 

"Perhaps it would do you well to be more observant," Admiral Paris said, not angrily, though not cheerfully, either.  He was still stifling yawns and the rich food that seemed particularly designed for the mass of twenty year-olds had done him no favors. 

"Aye, sir," returned the cadet.  He brushed aside a stray auburn curl, his eyes shining as he looked over the man before him.  His eyes crinkled with a squint.  "Pardon, but are you Admiral Paris?" 

Owen's brow rose.  "Yes."  He was a little surprised to see the young man simply nod and say nothing more, as if it didn't matter.  The admiral couldn't resist, then.  "Why do you ask?" 

"I'd heard about you, is all.  Just wanted to be sure you were you before supposing anything else.  Nothing else important." 

It took most of his strength to suppress his grin.  The boy was truly guileless.  "You might, Cadet, want to review the procedures and protocols in dealing with your superior officers." 

"Oh, I'd done all that already," he replied.  "I don't think I've treated you with any disrespect, as we're on a holiday today and it was only a question.  For that matter, I've already apologized for _ you_ bumping into _me_."  He shrugged.  "No matter.  I'll keep an eye out, anyway.  You never know where they'll be coming from.  Good day, sir." 

For the young man's carefree daring alone, the admiral simply could not admonish him further.  "Good day Cadet." 

"Sirs," said the young man with a small, polite bow before he hopped away from them. 

Alynna Nechayev hardly silenced her chuckles as the bold cadet rejoined his awestruck friends.  Obviously, the friends understood deference and the boy either didn't know or didn't care--probably a little of both.  "Well, I like to think I see something new every day," she goaded, peeking around the tree to view the youngsters a moment longer.  "A cadet that outranks you--nice concept."  The ruddy-haired boy was staring at them, but turned quickly away once she caught his eyes.  "They get younger every year." 

Even Admiral Paris was amused.  "He's a freshman, probably off a colony.  They sometimes think they've got some leeway.  He'll know better in a year." 

Alynna nodded, a little more subdued.  Though she understood perfectly well the need for discipline--and hoped the young man would find some as he'd never have a career without it--she also found such innocence refreshing.  Moreover, she had always enjoyed a little personality in her officers.  They usually had the best outcome when they weren't afraid to be themselves and take a few risks here and there. 

On that thought, she sighed; trying to relax, she finally decided to go to it.  She'd been nice all day, mainly for seeing him so tired.  But the day was almost over.  "Have you finished your letter to Tom?" 

He turned a narrow stare to her.  "You're not going to ruin this fine day my harassing me again, are you?"  The responsive look on her face proved that she was, and he blew a short sigh through his nostrils.  "I'll get to it," he told her.  "Does that satisfy you, Admiral?" 

"Tom will be so pleased," Alynna replied dourly. 

He huffed again, shook his head.  "For God's sake, Alynna, what do you want from me?" 

Then, she looked--glared--at him.  "I want you to write a letter to your son that means something," she answered evenly, "to tell him the truth.  You owe him that, Owen.  You owe him a lot."  She turned and put her hand on his arm.  "If not for Tom, if not for you, then for Alaine.  It's what she would have wanted." 

Owen face stiffened at that.  "How the hell would you know what Alaine wanted?"  he growled. 

"I know a lot more than you think," she said, but sucked the rest of her words back in when she saw his eyes reflect some dread.  If she remembered anything that Alaine had told her about him, it was that he hurt like a Vulcan.  So, she rethought her approach.

"Owen, I was your wife's maid of honor, remember?  Alaine and I went through school together.  I introduced you to her, watched your children grow up, either in her letters or on my visits.  Alaine told me everything, because she had nobody else to talk to.  So yes, I know what's gone on in your family, and I care about what happens to it.  As Alaine's friend--and your friend--I feel a little responsible for following through with what she would have wanted." 

She moved to catch his gaze.  "Owen, look at me," she commanded and stood strong in the glare he gave her.  "Alaine wouldn't have given a damn if you'd hated Tom the rest of your life.  What she wanted you to give him was the truth--not pleasantries, not politeness, not evasive blame, but the truth of how you feel, how you're coping, whether or not his achievements meant anything to you, even if you don't agree with where he took them.  But most of all, she wanted you to let him go--and let him know you two had the right to be different.  If that's too hard for you to do after thirty years--if you can't at least give him the time of day after what he's gone through to become his own man--then you really are as weak and pathetic as she knew you were." 

He flushed visibly, but had no reply, even as she pushed his arm away and passed him to walk back towards the courtyard.  Suddenly alone with her words ringing in his ears, in the shade of the tree, just fully bloomed, he felt disoriented, as if given a blow to the head.  The other people in the Starfleet park seemed hollow in his ears, though watching Alynna move quickly away, he could somehow hear her steps, beating on the grass.

Slowly turning his eyes away from her angry stride, he continued on his previous route, back to the walkway that would lead him off the grounds, though that time in spite--in spite of Alynna, in spite of Tom, in spite of Alaine. 

But his walk was aimless, barely cognizant of his destination.  _How can she think I deserve this?  Hadn't I tried?  Tried to give him the best...the best of..._

_"My son is lost.  His heart is dead and you killed it."_

He could hear echoes of the laughter and festivities behind him, those young cadets and their families, the music.  _I tired to give him what I knew would be right for him, tried to steer, tried to mold...  _ Owen turned around.  An older man was jostling with his son in the field, and the younger man was laughing loudly. 

Suddenly he could see his son, standing before him, eyes forward, jaw tight, lips pressed hard together.  _He wanted to take another semester of biochemistry..._ Owen believed his time was better served in astrophysics.  Tom argued, but soon agreed and went silent after, straightening his posture.  At attention.  Smile gone. 

_It was for the best, and I knew he'd see that soon enough.  He was just being stubborn, got his mind set on something else, one of his whiMs. I knew it was the right thing...  I loved him, tried to give him..._

His steps slowed, sank in the grass.

_"He'd have been better off if you hadn't been there at all.  You made this happen."_

A group of young people talked animatedly together as they walked past the father and son.  _Tom lost them...watched them die._ Suddenly he could see his son again, crying in his arms after the accident.  But he told him those things happened, to move on.  _I went to work the next morning.  Tom took the first commission he got after that, left.  We never spoke again._

_"If you hadn't interfered in his life, he would have been fine..."_

A little girl ran after her dog and tripped in the heavy grass.  But she stumbled back into a run a moment later, laughing as she called the dog's name.

_The commission was a good one,_ Owen knew.  _It was an excellent starting point, perfect for someone of Tom's background...  But his grades were near perfect.  He was an excellent student with a diverse mind.  _ Then he remembered.  Unwillingly, he saw the look on Tom's face again, that same look.  Rigid.  _He could have had the Enterprise if he'd wanted it without anyone thinking I'd gotten it for him...  He did prefer the variety he'd have had there, deserved the honor.  I was...  I took that from him._

Owen's feet stopped just short of the sidewalk.  _He did the right thing, he came forward to own up to his mistakes.  I disowned him for it.  Why?_

He could see himself sealing the door to his office. 

_Alaine knew.  She hated me for it._

He could see the pictures as he took them down from the wall. 

_"You killed my boy!"_

Some blossoms fell from the tree when the wind shifted.  Owen blinked.

_She died, and Tom was gone._

He remembered the look on Tom's face when he turned him away at the funeral.  Tom had said nothing, but the look in his eyes...It was the last time Owen saw his son.  _Where did I know that look?_

The breeze stilled.  The sounds around him faded.

_The last time I saw Alaine..._

_"Don't count on it."_

_...It was loss._

He drew a slow breath.  It rushed in his ears.

_I took his commission, his courses, his interests, his mother, his home, his place in the family, his freedom...out of love._

Owen placed his hand on his ribs, feeling pressure shoot deep within him.  He could feel his heart beating several times before it faded.  He gasped for another lungful of air.

"My God, what have I done?"  he whispered.

His head bent unconsciously, seeing it all.  His chest constricted again, forcing him to breathe through it, close his eyes and see yet more. 

"Oh God, Alaine..."

"Admiral, all you all right?" 

Owen jerked his head up only to see the ruddy-haired cadet from earlier staring at him with genuine concern.  Immediately, he straightened, shook his head tightly.  "I'm fine, Cadet." 

"With all due respect, you don't look it," the cadet replied.  "Where are you off to?  I'll take you." 

"I don't need your assistance, thank you." 

"They say in the medical sense that admirals are the only thing worse than captains," the young man quipped and put his hand on the admiral's arm.  "You can go ahead and get me bumped off the squadron track, or even out of the Academy if you like," he continued, "but I'm going to help you.  It's the right thing to do, considering you look like someone shot you." 

Owen regarded the boy again.  "You fly, hmm?"  he asked. 

"I do," he answered, leading the older man onto the walkway and starting them slowly down the path. 

Owen almost grinned, but sighed instead, resigning to the assistance for the moment, if only for the young man's peace of mind.  "Very well.  I'm on my way home." 

"Good.  You should get some rest, then." 

"You have no limit of impertinence, Cadet," he muttered.  "Is this how you were taught to behave at home?" 

The cadet laughed.  "Oh, much worse, sir!  We're a lunatic bunch.  But I'm not sorry for it.  I've mostly been happy." 

Owen's mouth turned briefly up; with that, he let the silence take over for a while.  Outside of the park and onto the street, the young man did not release his hold, but walked casually, even hummed a bit to himself as they strolled.  Owen occasionally turned a glance to him, but forced himself to turn away each time.  _Tom had that same air of casualness,_ he recalled, _except not with me.  No, with me, he was always careful, never himself.  How could I have not known that?_

Before they came to the corner where the would turn south for home, the admiral eased his arm away.  "You're kind to help me, Cadet.  But I think I can make it from here." 

He furrowed his brow.  "You're sure?  I wouldn't like anything to happen to you now." 

Owen nodded, though he could feel the weight returning to his chest.  He drew another breath to ease it, making a mental note to see the doctor some other time--later.  In the mean time, he met the young man's eyes again.  "What is your name, Cadet?" 

"Thomas Harlowe, sir." 

"Thomas?"  Owen grinned humorlessly and offered his hand.  The cadet shook it immediately.  "Thank you for you help, Cadet Harlowe, but I'll make it from here." 

"You're sure, sir?" 

Owen nodded.  "Yes." 

The younger man eyed the older for a moment before deciding to relent.  "Okay.  Maybe we'll see each other soon, then, when we have to get our letters in."

"Our letters?"

"The ones to Voyager."  He nodded to the admiral's raised brows.  "My momma ended up there, too--and that's part of why I was asking after you earlier.  I knew your Tom when he was on Tinalat.  He stayed at our house for two seasons.  He and my mother were old friends." 

"Ah."  He nodded again.  "I see.  Yes.  Perhaps I will see you, then." 

"I look forward to it, sir."  Tommy gave the admiral one more look and a little grin, before leaving the man to himself.  After that, he didn't turn back. 

_His mother was a Maquis?  _ he thought, watching the boy go, wondering ...Then, _ Letters, a letter..._

Owen turned and started off, no more quickly than before, but his thoughts finally turning forward again....   


Revenge was gotten on her side, for the child he had claimed broke free despite all his best intentions.  _ My best intentions for whom?_ He had no idea then that the child was his mother's.  _How did I make myself believe he was free to mold?_ He was ignorant of her deeper influence on their son.  _Or had I simply denied it, as I had denied her?_ As though her soul had broken free of death, Alaine Paris reclaimed what was hers all along, restoring her broken child's innate spirit, never to be restrained again. 

_I bore restraint for an hour.  He bore restraint all his young life._ _Little wonder it killed him.  Little wonder he turned away from me_. 

And just like his mother, the son had gotten the last word--now twice, three times, four, five six...  Suddenly, it all was so clear to him as he stared out at the ocean.  The regret swept through him, and for all his fighting it, he felt it. 

The longing for his wife, for his beautiful Alaine--he exhaled sharply, but didn't cry for lack of practice--became so acute he felt it in his chest, in his throat, felt sick to his stomach.  He turned away from the rush of the waves, back to the yard. 

The roses had died away long ago, and he touched the stalks Alaine had so lovingly housed and tended, her favorite hobby.  He remembered the side garden, once lush and fragrant with blooms in every season, but the roses had once been a landmark.  Then she died, and so did they, withering quickly away in the pall that replaced her.  She died, and so did their son:  Tom died to be freed to live.  Died in him. 

He turned away from the garden and into his empty house, through the pictureless hall, into the familiar confines of his office.  For a moment he stared at the petrel on the mantel, the sea bird perched above the fire.  Alaine had brought it from home when they married. 

_How many times had Tom stared at that bird while I talked to him?  Stared as I once stared at the ceiling, damning myself for giving in?_

He moved to his desk, sat in the large brown chair and leaned back.  His eyes focused on the drawer, and his hand rose to open it.  Slowly, he pulled out the letter; with a sigh, he accessed it.  It took another minute to look down at the words, and a moment more to commit himself to read the letter his son had written him. 

> Stardate 51374
> 
> Dear Dad,
> 
> Here I am, once again, without a way to start to say all the things I should.  Only now I don't have the time.  The Doctor will be sent to you in only twenty minutes, as soon as the link is secured.  The Federation ship will be out of range soon. 
> 
> I hope this works, because I want you to know that the baby B'Elanna and I were expecting is our daughter, whom we named Alaine, for Mom.  Mom would have adored her.  She's beautiful, full of life, Dad, and just like her mother, in every expression and with her curly brown hair.  B'Elanna insists she's got my smile, though it reminds me more of Mom's.  We agree on her eyes.  They're like B'Elanna's, but blue like Mom's were--and, trust me, they could charm a Ferengi out of his vault keys.  She's got her mother's sharp wit, too:  She's very quick and notices everything. 
> 
> Well, I guess it goes without saying that B'Elanna and I worship Alaine, like we will our second child, who's due in a couple weeks.  We worked hard to get number two, considering Alaine plus our duties constantly kept us running.  We couldn't be prouder, or happier, than we are now. 
> 
> I couldn't have hoped for the life I have here, Dad.  B'Elanna and I were devastated to lose our home.  We'd set our roots into Avalar, had loved it together.  For missing it and all the plans we'd made, it took some time to accept being here.  But we did.  B'Elanna was--naturally, I think--promoted to chief engineer, which has given her more than a few opportunities to show off her brilliance.  As for myself, I was hired to do some piloting on Voyager.  I still work as a primary medic and down in the hydroponics bay, but half of my work still centers around piloting, which I do enjoy. 
> 
> You might be disturbed to know that I haven't accepted a rank, though Kathryn offered it twice.  Don't be.  I'm happy with the freedom of being a civilian member of this crew.  I have time for my other work and time for our family, which is more important to me than any honors or privileges.  My wife and child(ren) are more than enough to make me content.  There isn't a day that I'm not thankful for them and the life I have because of them. 
> 
> B'Elanna's here, saying it's time, and Alaine has her arms wrapped around my legs.  For her, it's time for all of us to go home for lunch.  During and after, we'll be waiting to hear if the messages got through.  Again, I hope they do. 
> 
> Love to Moira and Kathleen. 
> 
> Tom

Owen stared at the words, the hurried ending, the detailed middle.  _He'd wanted to say more,_ he noted, more to me.  _He wanted to talk to me.  _ He scrolled the letter up and read it over again. 

_No rank, though he could've had it.  No steady position, except that of husband and father.  He's doing what he chooses, what makes him happy.  This is what he chose for himself.  This is Tom's life._

He turned and accessed his desk console.  With a few instructions, he called up the portrait of his son and his wife on Avalar, stared at it.  He examined their expressions, their position, their clothes, their surroundings.  Tom's eyes shone fearlessly in the light of that world, his arms around that woman, his wife, who in smile and gesture alone was without a doubt in love with his son.  Tom's grin was totally unaffected, his posture straight but relaxed.  He was happy.  He was grown up.  Owen barely recognized him.  Barely knew him. 

Owen's gaze drifted up to the portrait of his wife on the opposite wall.  The sea was behind her, a few gulls in the distance.  She smiled, carefree, strands of her blonde hair caught in the breeze, her face expressing the purest, plainest love he had ever known.  Owen suddenly remembered that Alaine had been holding Tom's hand when he'd taken that image.  Afterwards, they ran off together to play in the waves. 

Only a week later, he'd suggested Tom play parises squares and other sports in the afternoons instead, learn some better coordination and teamwork skills.  To Owen's memory, Tom and Alaine never played on the beach again.  Tom was away with those other things by the time his mother got home.  They spent less time together still when there came another sport, another activity, a harder curriculum or better program.  Those things Owen remembered vigorously approving, seeing his boy so well challenged, befitting his sharp mind and good frame.  At the same time, though always a rock of support, always his equal and partner, Alaine never again smiled at him like she had that day.

A sad smile found his fallen face as he gazed at her picture.  "You win."   


**51508-51522:  Four days later**

Thankfully the children were asleep when Chakotay found them eating lunch and discussing the messages.  B'Elanna had insisted on helping retrieve them, as every little bit counted.  They'd been excited, hopeful, wondering if they too had letters when they invited a somber Chakotay in.  He sat, politely waved away the offer of tea and something to eat.  When he told them, gently but directly, they could do nothing but stare at him while blood drained from their faces. 

They somehow knew better than to go through denial.

B'Elanna stood from the table, her chest rising and falling with the shock she knew she couldn't vent.  As soon as a scream came to her lips, she stifled it, thinking about waking the children.  Impossibly, she held it in.  Tom sat in numb silence another minute before moving to her.  He touched her shoulder, she turned and they embraced, silent.  Looking up from where he'd had his head buried in his wife's shoulder, Tom asked Chakotay if they could have some time.  The commander left without another word. 

They'd had to be strong when the children woke up.  Quiet but pleasantly enough, they got them dressed and fed, cleaned their quarters even as Alaine was dragging out her toys.  All the while, their respective glances threatened them with breaking down.  But neither could, not in front of Alaine, especially. 

But eventually the little girl did notice and ask why they were sad.  Sighing from her seat on the dinette chair, B'Elanna explained, "A bad thing's happened where we used to live and we can't help right now.  Everything is all right here on Voyager, but Daddy and I need to be sad for a while, because some old friends of ours were hurt." 

"Oh."  Alaine paused, thinking.  Looking around, she retrieved a stuffed animal and gave it to her mother.  B'Elanna laughed mirthlessly and hugged her little girl close, thanking her, looking up to Tom, standing nearby.  His eyes had misted, but he took deep breaths against it, returning her weak grin. 

Soon, Alaine returned to her toys and B'Elanna picked up the PADD she'd been working on.  She blinked.  Then she set it down again. 

Tom went to her and collected the PADDs in a hand, giving her his other.  "Come sit down with me," he offered quietly, leading her to the couch.  There they sat silently, working until Kiarn woke up again. 

Finally, it became too much to bear and they had to leave the children with the Doctor and Jenna to find their way, hand in hand, to the shuttle bay, then into the Marseilles.  Following his wife forward, Tom punched the ramp control without stopping.

In the solace of their ship, B'Elanna let loose, cursing the Federation, Starfleet, Cardassia, stalking circles on the small bridge while swearing revenge, demanding answers even as she knew her husband couldn't give her any.  Though outwardly calmer, Tom seethed his own accusations.  He hadn't felt so angry with the Federation in a while; it flew back to him as though it'd never abated.  He realized all over again how Starfleet had neglected its own and punished when they should have listened to and used the Maquis.  Instead, they'd wasted another resource to save their stilted pride and let the Cardassians get away with murder--again.  Saying as much, he felt himself shaking for being unable to do a damn thing about it. 

In indignation, B'Elanna cried out, spat on Starfleet as she had more than three years before, swore she'd never be seen in a uniform again.  Thinking of how the DMZ occupation must have come about, Tom's jaw clenched and his head spun with horrors he knew all too well.  Then he, too, considered vengeance before realizing it was useless. 

He told his wife just that, which did little to placate either of them.  Waves of frustration came and went, yet the shock and anger faded, soon to be replaced by that equal remorse for a tragedy they couldn't have prevented, even if they had been there. 

All their friends, their comrades, far away but not forgotten, were dead or imprisoned.  Avalar, quite possibly, was lost to them forever.  Their cause, long neglected for their immediate lives, was defunct, snuffed out with a vengeance, as if they needn't have bothered. 

They had lost, not only the fight, not only their past, but their hoped for future.  They had nowhere to go home to and nobody to greet them. 

For all of it, they had progressed from fury to lament. 

They were left only to stare at each other on the Marseilles' suddenly soundless bridge, knowing they were powerless, knowing they had been all along.  Without words, their tears brimming, they stepped closer. 

Finally clutching to each other, they let themselves cry, burying their heads in each other's shoulders.  They voiced nothing more.  There was nothing left to curse that hadn't already been cursed and no one else to blame that deserved it.  All that remained was the tragedy of their loss.  All they could do was mourn. 

Tom's eyes were still swollen when he was summoned to the bridge. 

Feeling a need to be near her, he'd been helping B'Elanna collect the letters that came, piece by piece, once they were calmed down enough to leave the Marseilles.  Alaine had stayed with Jenna.  Kiarn slept in his carrybed near the door.  Throughout the time, though spent from the emotions of that day, they talked, remembered, even smiled once or twice at times they'd all but forgotten.  They yet held back the urge to break down again. 

Then B'Elanna got a letter from her cousin K'Karn, which had cheered them both for a time.  His words were proud and hopeful, full of news about the family--and her mother, who had become a well-respected metallurgist as well as geologist on the Homeworld.  His explaining her mother's change of heart to her daughter, though, was probably the best news B'Elanna could not have expected.  Tom embraced her in her shock and relief when she finished the letter, truly happy for his wife and telling her so. 

Then the header of a letter to Tom arrived, and they discovered soon after that it was from his father.  Unfortunately, it was talking longer to download.  Tom and B'Elanna had to make the difficult decision to concentrate on the easier ones for the time being, for the sake of their friends.  For in spite of K'Karn's good news and their curiosity about the admiral's letter, their eyes still bore the sadness of their tragedy, shared by all the Maquis on board. 

Each new letter was a reminder of that.  Each familiar Maquis name that appeared spurred again the reminder of their loss.  Each scrap and sentence describing one nightmare after another refreshed their own mourning and distracted any selfishness they might have had.  Thus, they determined themselves to collect the other letters first. 

Their priority had to be for their friends, and it remained so until the captain called the pilot to the bridge. 

Tom caught the look in Harry's eye and shook his head as he passed.  "Not yet, Harry.  Sorry." 

"You okay, Tom?"  Harry then asked. 

Tom dug his hands into his coat pockets.  "No.  I will be.  It'll take a while, but thanks."  With that, he moved down to the conn, all business and utterly silent. 

When the captain told him what he needed to do, he obeyed, maneuvering the ship with the grace and skill that had kept him and B'Elanna and the others alive during their time in the Maquis.  But even the joy of flying couldn't chase the pain from his face.  Nor did he try to hide it.  Instead, he used it, honored their lost comrades, their lost homes, with the best he could offer.  It was all he could do.   


As soon as the captain rose to check on their disintegrated link to Alpha Quadrant, Tom was on her heels, excusing himself with but a nod to Chakotay, who nodded back. 

"How are you holding up?"  Janeway asked, seeing the remnants of an understandable sadness in his eyes.  She touched his arm.  "Chakotay told me what happened.  I'm sorry for your loss." 

"I know," he said quietly, reaching up to give her hand a squeeze.  "Thank you.  I guess it's no surprise that it'll take us a while to get over it, like everyone else." 

"If there's anything I can do, Tom, just tell me." 

"That's the problem, Kathryn.  There's nothing any of us can do."  Despite it, he offered a half-formed grin.  "But thanks again.  It's nice of you to offer." 

Once returned to astrometrics, Tom listened as B'Elanna gave the captain her report.  The link was, at least for the time being, disabled, and she couldn't retrieve all the letters.  She'd gotten a few more and some scraps, but that was all. 

When she handed the PADDs to the captain to give to Neelix, she retained one.  Looking over to her husband, who had bent to pick Kiarn up to leave, her eyes shone with one victory in all her last minute efforts.  "Let's go get Alaine and go home, Tom." 

He straightened, easing his son to lay against his shoulder.  Then he gazed into her brightened eyes.  His own stare widened as he realized...  "Really?  You got it?" 

"I don't even know what it says yet," B'Elanna said, moving close to look up at him, "but it should make interesting reading." 

Tom glanced over to the captain.  "My father wrote me." 

"Well," she said, more pleased than Tom or B'Elanna could know, "you'd better go and see what it says." 

They needed no further prodding than that.   


Certainly, they both were curious, but when they got home, matters aplenty prevented them from reading it.  Alaine was ablaze with questions and cranky for being overtired by all the excitement.  Kiarn woke up screaming and kicking, not well rested himself.  Refusing to nurse for being so worked up, he instead got hungry about a minute before B'Elanna was done with her shower.  She fed her son on the side of the bed with unkempt locks in a hastily tied robe pulled open at the top. 

Meanwhile, Tom got an increasingly petulant Alaine dressed for bed, set the table and made their late dinner.  It was nearly another two hours before they had eaten, then set Kiarn, then and with more effort, Alaine, down for the night.  They cleaned up the dining table and the toys Alaine scattered around the entire room.  Finally, Tom thankfully, albeit quickly, showered and wrapped himself in a robe before joining an equally tired and curious B'Elanna on the couch. 

She sat very still, but her eyes were wide with anticipation.  The PADD had been sitting for several minutes on the table before her, waiting to be accessed.  Coming around from the bedroom, Tom gave her a grin and claimed his seat by her.  He leaned forward, took the PADD, then put his arm around B'Elanna to pull her close.  She pulled her feet up, tucking them beside herself on the couch, draped her arm over him in a languid embrace, her head on his chest, but looked expectantly on.  With a kiss to her head and a simple click of his finger, he accessed the letter and read: 

> Stardate 51500
> 
> Dear Tom,
> 
> I have only just read your letter.  Why I couldn't read it earlier is too hard to explain and doesn't matter as much as what I feel I should tell you.  Recently, Alynna told me that all your mother wanted of me was that I tell you honestly how I feel for you.  For your mother, then, I can say that I will never ignore your criminal actions, your willful treason while living as a Maquis.  But I have come to know that there is more to my discomfort than political affiliations, though they do matter a great deal to me. 
> 
> I suppose I'm discovering how you felt when you wrote me, both times, and you found it difficult to begin.  Beginnings are difficult, as the mediators are taught to say when they are faced with bringing together two very different peoples.  There is truth to that cliché, however. 
> 
> We, too, are from separate worlds, far apart in belief and practice, with mediators on both sides, both purposefully and unwittingly trying to bring our disparate cultures together.  I think sometimes now that our only thread of commonality was your mother, your ambassador, whom only now I know I should have listened to more often. 
> 
> Peace would have been impossible if you hadn't her strength, her simple courage when you offered the olive branch in your first letter.  I admit, I pushed it away.  Although your actions were criminal, your being a Maquis pilot was not all that prevented me from forgiving you enough to respond. 
> 
> How can I put into words what it was like to lose your mother?  How can I tell you how displeased I was with her before she died?  She was a free spirit, truly her own person in so many ways.  I loved her more than I could put into words, but I smothered that spirit I so admired.  Why?  Only now I'm asking myself this, and the only answer I can find is that I assumed because she didn't complain, there was nothing wrong.  I didn't realize the extent of her gentleness, her sensitivity, or her wisdom.  When I saw you inheriting those gifts, I saw it as weakness and tried to guide you otherwise .  I zealously thought you needed my direction and experience.  I had no idea I was crushing you, as well. 
> 
> I did this unwittingly, and I now pay with my conscience the price for my ignorance.  But even I could not kill the passion inborn in you both.  Your mother dissolved our marriage and reasserted her freedom shortly before her death.  You escaped, too, divorcing the life I had molded you into, divorcing me.  For liberating yourselves, I despised you both.  For six years, I openly dismissed you and made your mother over in a false memory, and though I sought reconciliation, I tried to find it on my own terMs. I might have lived without guilt, been able to ignore what I had been told repeatedly.  I might even have been able to rationalize your mother's last embittered words to me. 
> 
> Did you really want a career in Starfleet?  If I had listened to you, if I had let you go your own way, would you have chosen my family's path?  I don't know.  Perhaps.  Your mother believed that I had manipulated you into thinking you weren't worthy, that you couldn't make your own decisions.  There, she was a little wrong, as you did win a few of our battles.  Maybe not many, but some.  Maybe not enough.  Maybe I should not have made so many decisions for you. 
> 
> Only now, looking back, I can see my part in it.  I should not have interfered.  If I had seen you for who and what you were, perhaps I could have given you the freedom you so needed and advised you better when you needed it most.  I should have seen you for yourself, not my reflection of you. 
> 
> Did I kill your spirit?  I know I didn't, as it's decidedly there.  For what it's worth, you have made good use of it.  But did I misjudge you?  Yes.  You're your mother's son in many ways, and I did misinterpret that, which is none too complimentary to you both.  I tried to make you into what I found good in myself, our family and in those I admired, and expected persistence would breed success.  That was wrong.  If it matters, son, I apologize. 
> 
> I don't know where to go from here.  I suppose you already understand that I am not particularly adept at this sort of explanation.  I believe I have said enough, except for this:  For the life you have made, Tom, your mother rests in peace.  All she had wanted was for you to be free and happy.  You have given her that.  For having the strength to make that happen, in spite of everything that stood against you and the actions I cannot yet reconcile, I can be proud of you.  You are my son, and I love you, too. 
> 
> My regards to your wife and children, to whom I hope someday you will have the opportunity to introduce me.  Your descriptions of them alone prove to me that you have every reason to be happy.  That's a good thing.  Continue to cherish that. 
> 
> Be well, Tom. 

There was no adieu, but Tom's solace could not have been disturbed for any postscript the admiral might have offered. 

Putting down the PADD, he wiped his cheek and leaned into B'Elanna's embrace.  He kissed her hair, then her forehead, before resting his cheek on her head.  She smiled and hugged him again, knowing how much he once wanted to know his father's heart.  She was also relieved that she could share a satisfaction similar to what she felt after reading K'Karn's letter, learning that her mother had likewise come to terms with the child that had abandoned her.  It had been more than B'Elanna could have hoped for.  Now they both had more than they had hoped for.  It was relieving to have some good news that day.   


He knew she didn't much seem like herself.  Since hearing the news the first time, he hadn't much felt like himself, either.  Though their families' letters were comforting, the weight of their loss was difficult to let go, despite their efforts.  Tom knew they would get past it, but it would take time, it would also take closure. 

But something peculiar was on her mind.  She was pleasant, but quiet to him.  He let the silence stand.  He trusted she'd speak when she wanted to, even if he was curious.  He could tell she needed to think, to brood a while on it.  It was her way. 

Harry came by, dropping off some of the Astrometrics data--the most disintegrated messages from the Alpha Quadrant, which she had asked to help piece together--and she patiently let him stay until he got the hint she wasn't in the mood for company.  Tom talked to him for a while, the whole time knowing Harry wasn't asking them what he wanted to.  Harry finally made pretense to leave and did.  By then, it was time for Alaine to go to bed.  Soon after, it was time for Kiarn's feeding.

Tom smiled to watch, from his place in their bed, her nurse their son in the rocking chair he'd made before Alaine was born.  It was a funny thing at the time.  Though she admired its appearance, B'Elanna accused him of designing her to be a "marm," as it was such an old-fashioned piece of furniture.  In fact, Tom was the first to rock Alaine to sleep in it, a few days after her birth.  The gentle motion soothed the newborn immediately.  Amazed, B'Elanna took the seat at Alaine's next feeding.  Soon after, it was a common sight for Tom to watch B'Elanna rocking slowly, comfortably, in that chair with one of their children held near.  Sometimes she took to the chair alone when waiting for Kiarn to awaken, reading a PADD or just watching him stir. 

She still accused Tom of making her a marm, which never failed to make him laugh. 

Then, as Tom watched her, their son suckling easily at his mother's breast, he yet knew something was on her mind.  Her eyes had drifted outward, towards the floor but at nothing.  She stroked her child's soft hair too distractedly, rocked the chair without a steady rhythm.  She wasn't humming.  She usually hummed something softly.  Not that night. 

Tom said nothing, even when Kiarn fell to sleep and she set him down.  She disappeared into the bathroom for several minutes, then came back to slip off her robe and get into bed beside him.  She smiled and kissed him, whispered good night.  He returned the same.  When she turned in his embrace, he pulled her close, nuzzling her head into his neck.  She sighed as if to sleep. 

He could feel her tightening.  He held her warm, dry back to his chest and felt her smooth muscles stiffen.  Her hair was crushed against him, and she didn't bother to pull it over her shoulder, His fingers were loosely entwined with hers, and she was completely still.  She wasn't relaxed and he knew it. 

Finally, he nuzzled his chin against her head.  She got the message and took a slow, silent breath.  More silence followed for nearly a minute before she decided to speak. 

"I don't want to go back," she whispered. 

"Back?"  he muttered. 

She stared at the bedcovers, glanced to the bed table, to Kiarn's crib, to the wall straight ahead.  "I want to resign my commission."  Her words were soft, certain. 

Tom didn't move.  She'd mentioned that the day they got the news.  "Are you sure?" 

B'Elanna breathed again, tried to clear her throat.  Her voice was still thick.  "They let our friends die, they put the rest in prison, as if they hadn't been through enough.  They...We have nothing left there, Tom.  They let our home be destroyed." 

"Yes."  Tom closed his eyes, pausing, then opened them again. 

"I hate them for what they did." 

"I know.  I don't think I like them much right now, either.  But they can't be blamed directly, not for the deaths, anyway.  Only for not acting when they should have, for hunting the Maquis when they should have helped."  He sighed at that, grinded his teeth.  "Damned diplomacy," he muttered, "stupid, useless treaty, and the sentences.  They weren't directly responsible for the final outcome, but they weren't much help, were they?  It'd be easier if they were responsible, I think.  We'd have more to blame." 

"Then we'd have something close to be angry at, something we could reach," she added. 

Tom nodded.  "I know."  He ran his thumbs over her hands, relaxing them a little, willfully relaxing himself again, too.  "B'Elanna, if you do this, you'll want to be sure.  I don't want you to regret this one.  As much as it occupies you and you complain about that, I know how much you love your work." 

"I can't bear to think of wearing my uniform.  I...  I can't be a part of the system that was involved in what happened to our friends and our home.  Not anymore."  She squeezed his fingers gently, felt his response.  Still he did not move.  "I was so proud, Tom," she whispered, "proud to have finished what I started, to have earned the respect of this crew, their trust.  You're right, I love being an officer, having that responsibility, working in engineering.  But I can't stand to think of just moving on without some consequence.  I just can't do that." 

"I understand."  He wrapped his arms close to her, then, embracing her.  "It's your decision," he told her quietly.  "I certainly won't fight it.  But don't forget that you are needed here.  You're the best damned engineer Kathryn could have hoped for and this ship needs that, the way we manage to stay in trouble." 

"I know.  If I wasn't needed, I would have resigned already." 

Tom grinned.  That was his B'Elanna, he knew.  If she had ever been certain of anything, it would be of her abilities.  "There might be repercussions with the other Maquis crew." 

"That's another thing," she admitted.  "I don't want to create a domino effect while I'm living up to my conscience."  She sighed, turning over to face him, though her glassy stare fixed to a point just over his shoulder when she settled.

Encircling her in his arms again, Tom rolled onto his back, taking her with him.  Her eyes yet diverted, caught in thought, caught on everything she couldn't vocalize.  Finally she just shook her head.  "I can't go back to the way things were, Tom.  I can't just let this go; I don't think I want to.  I can't be Starfleet again, even if the blame is partial." 

She paused a moment, touching her chin to his chest, sighing.  "I remember when Jenna accused me of first getting into the Maquis because I needed company I thought I could fit in with."  B'Elanna grinned a little.  "God, how I hated her for being right.  But despite how I got there, I did become involved.  I was loyal to the cause, I knew our fight mattered.  But you know that."  He nodded.  "Then we made a home on Avalar--only to lose it.  Jenna was right.  It's hell to have everything you built taken away from you.  Now we've lost it twice." 

B'Elanna found Tom's eyes reflecting hers, darkened with the truth of their losses, wistful for missing it all the more.  "I'll stay with engineering, but I can also spend more time researching more ways home, have more time with you and the children.  I wonder how Joe's going to take this." 

He cupped her cheek in his hand, staring tenderly up to her.  "It can be worked out," he told her.  "I'll help you make whatever arrangements or talk to whoever."  She nodded.  "Maybe we should work on the Maquis first."  Again she nodded, more quickly then.  Tom eyed her.  "B'Elanna, this is a huge decision you're making.  You're going to have to adjust to civilian life all over again, no matter to what extent you continue working in engineering." 

"I know," she said.  "But I am sure about this, I know I am now.  I just need to figure out what I'm going to do when it's done." 

"You know they'll find something for you to do," he said lightly. 

She shrugged at that, but then realized, "God, how am I going to tell Kathryn--or Chakotay?" 

"They'll understand."  He watched her smile, just slightly, in agreement, watched how her eyes tried hard to stay to his.  She was still tense.  "What's going on?  This can't just be about Starfleet." 

Reaching down to caress his cheek, B'Elanna swallowed hard.  Her eyes misted and she tried to shake her head again to will it away.  Tom stopped her, threading his hand into her hair, holding her.  She found his knowing gaze again and held it.  "How are we supposed to grow from this?  How can we redeem this, Tom?" 

Caressing away with his thumb the drop of water in the corner of her eye, he said, "I don't know," and put his arms around her. 

"This is the only way I know how to fight back," she finally admitted.  "It's the only stand I can make, for the Maquis, for Avalar.  I have to make this stand, for my conscience, for all of them.  I am a Maquis, just like you.  I don't want to think they've killed us all, and I can't just go back on duty and pretend I can get over losing our homeworld.  I don't want to live like that." 

"Then you shouldn't," he agreed.  "I'll help you plot things out tomorrow, okay?  If you don't mind my making that stand with you?" 

She smiled a little at that, pressed her lips to his.  "Thank you." 

When her arms wrapped around him, he kissed her cheek, guided her head into the curve of his neck.  "We will build another nest, B'Elanna," he whispered. 

She closed her eyes, relaxing in his embrace.  "Yes, we will." 

Squeezing her gently, feeling her response, he closed his eyes again.   


**51919:  About six months later**

Alynna had come to say goodbye.  Recent activities had recalled her to Dominion matters again, back to Starbase 310.  Making sure, as always, that her affairs were wrapped up before leaving on a potentially dangerous assignment, she came to the house to see how Owen was doing.  She had not seen him since the picnic. 

There was no answer at the front door.  She wandered around, through the entryway--where she noticed the weeds had been recently pulled--to the back to knock on the side door.  No answer again.  Turning, Alynna looked at the side yard.  Duffels of dirt were stacked by the garden shack; the fountain had been scrubbed.  The path leading to the back had been repaired as well. 

Following that path to the edge of the hill, she saw below Owen walking slowly along the beach.  He was in uniform, but held his boots in a hand as he tentatively neared the ebbing water. 

She smiled and moved down the old wooden steps, off the landing and across the dry sand to the grayish, damp shore.  Without a greeting, she stepped beside her old friend, who quickly caught her eyes, then looked away.

"Yes, I heard you were recalled," he said as though they had been already in the middle of a conversation as he carefully steered them towards the dryer sand.  "Did you get word this morning, too?"

"Last night, actually.  I'll be transporting to the Gorkon in a few hours, when our supplies arrive."

"Hope it goes well for you," he nodded, "and do be careful.  This situation with the Dominion has been tricky as best." 

"Yes, and thank you, Owen.  I will."  She eyed his embarrassment at being caught with his feet dangerously close to getting wet.  She was unable to suppress her responsive grin.  "I don't ever remember you coming out to the water, Owen.  I thought you didn't like the sea." 

He grunted.  "I don't, really.  Got to try a new thing every once and a while, right?"  He turned away from the water and started up the beach.  Fruitlessly trying to shake the clinging sand from his toes, he cursed at losing his balance on the shifting surface.  He sped his pace just to get onto the weather-beaten landing, reddening at his friend's amusement.

"I noticed you're having the garden straightened up," Alynna said, offering a diversion. 

"Yes, I finally got around to hiring a lanscaper," Owen said, huffing from the exertion of his walk.  He glanced at her, then up the hill to their destination.  "Tell me, Alynna:  What was that rose that Alaine liked so much?  The same one, I believe, her parents had in their yard at Dorset Corner?" 

"Dame Chenue," Alynna promptly responded, the pleasant memory easy to recall. 

Owen nodded briskly.  "Very well.  Thank you."  Back on solid ground, he was able to regain his breath, then his dignity.  Filling his lungs with the salty air, then exhaling it, he gestured to the house with his chin as he laid a hand on the stair rail.  "Do you have time for a cup of tea before you transport up?  See the pictures Tom sent with his last letter?  If I recall correctly, you haven't had the opportunity to see my grandchildren." 

Alynna smiled, regarding the man's face a moment.  As usual, he revealed nothing.  That time, she didn't mind.  "I would love to have some tea, Owen."  Taking her friend's arm before he could offer it, her expression was unchanged when he gave her a look of pleasant surprise.  In that fashion, they continued up the stairs.  
-

B'Elanna finished securing the hook into the wall as Tom put the last braces in place and wiped away his fingerprints from the glass.  "What do you think?"  he asked her, quietly enough not to disturb their napping six month and three year old children in the other room. 

She looked and smiled.  "I like it." 

"I'd hope so.  It took long enough to unscramble the image." 

B'Elanna took a seat on the edge of the bed and watched Tom set the picture on the wall by the door.  They'd decided it should go next to a picture of her mother, which was one of but three that existed in the database. 

The admiral's picture was just as rare, but only because he was not in uniform, not at work.  The image had been taken only months before it was sent:  His sisters were chatting with their usual animation over the sunny breakfast table while Adam, Moira's husband, read a PADD and sipped on coffee.  Behind them, their father was standing at the window in his blue Sunday suit, holding his hands behind him.  He had been looking outside, but seemed to have been asked to turn around.  He looked much like he always did when he noticed something, brows just slightly raised, mouth straight but pleasant.  It seemed like a typical Sunday, save the presence of Tom's mother. 

His father had sent the image with his letter.  It had been nearly impossible to unscramble, it being more degraded than the rest of the message.  Without his asking her to, B'Elanna kept working on it between her new position, senior engineering consultant--Tom's invention--her research and the seemingly endless effort on the degraded messages.  She knew Tom would want it.  When she presented it to him, he forgot all about the shuttle schematics they'd been fooling with.  A minute later, they were making space on their picture wall. 

They wondered why the admiral had chosen that image. 

Having put the picture in its new home, Tom took a seat by B'Elanna to examine the addition.  Like the coincidental picture of Miral at an outdoor conference, the Paris family's image seemed to fit within the other casually captured moments, the only necessity for their wall.  The most formal portrait was the one Jenna took of them on Avalar.  But Tom and B'Elanna just happened to be sitting together on that rock, and only looked at Jenna when the lady had stopped beating Chakotay up long enough to call out to them. 

"We do have a good collection going," Tom appraised. 

"Yes."  She leaned into his arm when he offered it.  Turning to touch his cheek, she kissed him.  "We're going to need a new wall," she said wryly, "the way we keep managing to put more on it." 

"Yeah," he said, touching his nose to hers, "we sure will." 

"I guess it is one way to keep things lively." 

"I'd say so." 

She turned her gaze, regarding him.  "It's not too soon?" 

"I'm not complaining if you aren't." 

"I'm not.  I like adding to the wall." 

He touched her nose again, kissed her softly.  "Me too." 

Finally, she laughed, shaking her head in disbelief.  "We're crazy, you know." 

"Maybe that's why we're married," he returned. 

"Yes, that must be it." 

He drew a full breath before collecting her in his arms, chuckling lightly when he felt her teeth nip gently at his neck before she leaned back into the curve of his shoulder.  He caressed the crown of her hair with his cheek; her body quickly warmed his own.  Her small foot dabbled against his calf, an unconscious habit.  Feeling suddenly full in heart, he hugged her.  She in turn pressed his arms in, purred softly.  Weaving his fingers with hers, they continued to share the view of their picture wall. 

"So, whose turn is it?"   


_fin._


End file.
